You Are Not Alone
by penbehindamask
Summary: Erik has always been shunned and rejected. When he hears angelic singing he is entranced. Can he and the lonely girl find companionship in each other, or will their interaction destroy any hope left? A/U inspired by ALW and partly Leroux.
1. Chapter 1 - The Angel of Music

The soft swishing of his cape was the only sound Erik allowed as he walked down the narrow side corridor only he could use. He liked to hear that sound because it put him in mind of swirling winds, and freedom in a world that was entirely his.

No footsteps resounded on the floor. No harsh breaths escaped his mouth. No part of him brushed against the walls and grated with. Even his porcelain mask didn't rub against his face.

Just then the flickering silence was broken by footsteps and hushed voices. Erik hurried his pace, not wanting to have to listen to idle chatter. Then the singing started.

The pure, sweet voice filled the small corridor like music straight from heaven. Erik froze where he was, captivated. He moved to the side of the adjoining passage he was in and pressed his hands to the wall. He wanted so much to be closer to that beautiful sound. It seemed to be all around him, inside him. It filled the hollow places in his being and soothed the scars of a lifetime. The music was everything.

Then the song died away, and was replaced by a soft laugh and excited voices.

Erik fixed his eyes through the gaps in the wall on the two girls walking through the corridor. The taller one had brown hair and grey eyes, but Erik hardly noticed her. His gaze was full of the girl who had been singing. She was small and delicate, and carried herself as though she was about to sprout wings and take to the air. Like molten shadows her hair tumbled down her back, curling into the folds of her deep green cloak. Her porcelain-doll face was captured in a smile of the same elation Erik always felt with music. Her eyes were as brightly blue as sapphires; they seemed to shine like a pair of beautiful beacons, beckoning Erik forwards.

The girls continued down the corridor, walking inches away from where Erik was standing, and he followed as though in trance.

Erik's mind was spinning. He could still hear that gorgeous voice in his head. Nothing else seemed to matter. All he wanted was to hear that sound again, to be part of it, to be closer to it, to be closer to her...

Christine tugged on Celeste's elbow, pulling her friend along. "Come on," she urged. "Rehearsal ended late today and I want to get home before it gets dark."

Celeste sighed but quickened her pace. "Sorry, coming."

Christine noticed the sad edge to her voice, stopped and turned. "Are you okay doing this? I know today hasn't been the best,"

Celeste's blue eyes raised to meet Christine's grey ones. "Yes, I...I need to do this. I can't just not visit my father because I've had a bad day." Christine sighed. Celeste always had a rather disconcertingly honest way of speaking so no one could ever tell if she was being truthful or not.

"Anyway," Celeste continued, "It was only Carlotta. She can only say so much."

Christine nodded. "Alright. Come on then."

The two girls passed through the writhing iron gates and into the graveyard, not noticing the shadow that followed them.

Celeste walked a short way away as Christine reached her father's grave. She knew it was better to reminisce alone.

Arriving at the gravestone that was her own destination, Celeste knelt; her eyes already blurring with tears as her fingers traced the etched lines of the name Aimon Bistelle. Warm tears spilled from her eyes and burned her cheeks. In a choked voice she managed to utter the words she wished her father could hear, "I need you, Papa. I need your hug and your smile and your comforting words. But I can't reach you. I wish so much I had you back. I love Mother, of course, but I feel so lonely. Without you...and almost without Mother too...I don't know how to cope. I'm alone.

Please, Papa. After today I feel like I can't stand much more. Carlotta was throwing her poisonous insults around again, and it was horrible. Christine tells me not to let it get to me, but it still hurts.

I know it's not your fault, but why did you have to leave me? Please, I don't want to be on my own anymore."

Celeste bowed her head, tears falling to the grass. When she heard Christine's footsteps she raised her head again, hurriedly brushing the tears from her cheeks.

Without a word, Christine crouched beside Celeste and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I know what you need, Celeste." She said softly. Blue eyes met grey. "An angel."

Celeste smiled, to her own surprise. "I think we could all do with one of those."

"You need an Angel of Music, like Little Lotte in the stories our parents told." Christine continued, mirroring Celeste's smile. "That would make you feel better."

A shake of the head was the reply Celeste gave. Christine was undeterred. "An angel to teach you, to sing in your sleep, to have music constantly playing in your head."

"That sounds lovely, but I want an angel far less than you deserve one."

Christine looked back in the direction of her father's grave. Celeste's hand still rested on the stone portal to her own father. "Celeste, both of our fathers said they'd send us an angel from heaven. Believe them. And, if you can hear me Father," she raised her voice slightly with another glance over her shoulder. "Send the angel to Celeste. She needs it."

With a sigh and small smile, Celeste rose and linked her arm through Christine's. "Come on, let's go home."

"Okay. But I'm dropping you off tonight."

"Christine..."

Christine raised a hand to stop her protest. "Your head's been in the clouds all day; you'd probably walk halfway across Paris before you noticed you'd taken a wrong turning."

Celeste laughed. "Alright then."

"And anyway," Christine said, beginning to lead them both out of the graveyard, "The Angel of Music might come and snatch you up if you were on your own, and then you'd leave me completely."

Celeste smiled and glanced back over her shoulder. "You did promise, Papa." she bid softly, her quiet words drifting back to settle on the dark tombstone.

Erik raised his head to watch the pair disappear into the darkness. His head was whirring with unfolding plans and those last fleeting words.

This was his way to her. She wanted an angel? He would give her an angel. Music had always been his most beloved strength, and it had been music that had first drawn him to the girl. It would be their connection.

Surely, even a demon like him could be an angel for something as heavenly as her.


	2. Chapter 2 - A Chorus Girl

"Mademoiselle Bistelle!" Celeste turned to see Monsieur Lefevre pushing his way through the gaggles of people on the Opera House stage. Celeste replaced the confused frown on her face with a polite smile as he neared. "Monsieur?" "Mademoiselle Bistelle. Mademoiselle Daae." he added, with a quick incline of his head to Christine before turning back to Celeste. "You have been, ah, recommended for our lead chorus singer and dancer for our upcoming production. Do you accept this post?" Celeste's slight frown returned. "But what about Esmee? I thought she still held the position." Lefevre waved a hand dismissively. "She has transferred to another Opera House." "But then what about Arien? She was second, surely she should-" "Also gone! Now, do you accept the post or not?" Lefevre's voice had gone quite frantic and his eyes had started to bulge slightly. "Um, yes, I suppose..." "Good." The manager's tone had returned to its usual briskness. Both girls still surveyed him faintly alarmedly. "A new dressing room has recently been built which you will receive." "Oh, thank you, Monsieur." Lefevre nodded and turned away from her, visibly relaxing as he moved on to Christine. "Mademoiselle Daae, we would like you to be second dancer." Christine smiled, still looking uncertain. "I would be honoured, Monsieur." Lefevre nodded again. "You will, of course, receive Darcella's old dressing room. And, oh yes, you will both need your new scores. Monsieur Reyer!" At his summons, Monsieur Reyer scurried in their direction, rifling through the stack of music in his arms. "Yes, yes, here you are, Mam'zelles. Your music." The girls took their scores for his hands. Celeste immediately began to read hers, only looking up when Lefevre said, "Well, good day to you both," and walked away quickly. Reyer put a hand on Celeste's arm. "You will do well, the both of you. Now, Signor Piangi!" He hurried off again. Christine and Celeste turned to each other. Christine raised an eyebrow. "Well," she said, "That was...unexpected." "Mmm," agreed Celeste vaguely, resuming pouring over her music. "Christine! Celeste!" A whirl of tutu and blonde hair, and Meg stood beside them. "I just heard; congratulations!" Celeste smiled, eyes not leaving the score. "Thank you. Though why it was even necessary bemuses me. For Esmee and Arien both to leave... And, anyway, why didn't you get the position, Meg?" Meg shrugged. "I've never been as musical as you two. Or committed. Don't get me wrong, I love this place, but working with my mother all the time...honestly, it's enough to take the spring out of anyone's _brisé_. Anyway, got to go practice with the little ballerinas. Remember us?" Christine smiled. "We've just got slightly bigger chorus parts than before, Meg. We're hardly leading. And we're still dancing." "Plus, we'd be hard put to forget you, Meg; you spring around as much as ever." Celeste added, still not looking up. Meg laughed, already being swallowed by the crowd. "Don't forget us poor toe tappers!" She shouted back over her shoulder. Christine sighed. "God, conversations with her are tiring. I can barely keep up." "Mmm." Celeste murmured. Christine looked over at her. "Well done, by the way." Celeste threw a smile in her direction. "Thank you. You too." "I wonder where the recommendations came from." Christine mused. "Well, I would say that Lefevre picked you himself. He's always wanted to see what the daughter of the great Daae could do. But I have no idea about me." "Anyone whose ever heard you, Celeste. Honestly, you're going to surpass anything that's come before. People would kill for your voice." Celeste finally looked up, smiling modestly. "Thanks. But I'm still waiting for my Angel of Music to come along." *** Erik smiled, feeling as though the title 'Angel of Music' was already wrapping around him. His eyes moved from the pair of girls, over the heads of the giggling ballerinas and the pouting Prima Donna, to where Monsieur Lefevre was climbing the stairs. As Erik watched, Lefefvre glanced back over his shoulder, then patted his pocket, before disappearing off to his office. A chuckle rose to Erik's lips. He knew full well that, concealed in that pocket, Lefevre carried the most recent letter signed by the Opera Ghost. Scrawled in red was that 'recommendation' for Celeste that should have been unnecessary had the manager not been as blind as a mole rat. But no matter; Erik had heard whispers of Lefevre's resignation. It was supposedly under stress, and many had placed blame on the Opera Ghost's intangible shoulders. Well, good. It was about time for some fresh blood, and Erik was glad that all his efforts were finally shaking off some rotten fruit. And the thought of someone new to play with was thoroughly enjoyable. Speaking of enjoyment, his actions were now moving Celeste into the perfect position for Erik to make his move. The thought of finally reaching her - albeit through the mirror-window he had designed - sent a light shiver of anticipation down his back. Her wishes granted along with his... Almost the work of angels. 


	3. Chapter 3 - I Hear You Speak

Celeste closed the door behind her, and let out a long sigh. She turned and cast her eyes around her dressing room. _Her_ dressing room. It still didn't quite seem right.

She moved forwards and slumped in her chair. Rehearsal had been so long, and she hadn't sung a note or danced a step. The entire day had been taken up with Carlotta's pettiness. The diva had spent the whole time either muttering (so that everyone could hear) or filling the entire building with her warbling screeches as she practised her lead in Hannibal.

Celeste tried to be kind, but she couldn't help agreeing silently when Meg had said, "That fat cow's a waste of space and air. She's only here because she gets her 'fans' to pay Lefevre. Though God alone knows how she got fans, with a face and personality like that!"

And, despite herself, while Carlotta had been shrieking, Celeste could not help thinking of how she would have sung the melody. Such a beautiful thing and it had been flung about and destroyed. But if she could have a chance... Wishful thinking.

Celeste sighed and leant on her dressing table. She rested her head in her hands.

If she was being honest with herself, it wasn't the day's events that had her feeling like this. It was the guilty knowledge that she was just procrastinating; avoiding for as long as possible the inevitable moment when she would have to go home - though the Opera House had felt more like a home to her that anywhere else recently. She knew she was being selfish, but just the idea of having to walk through that front door again made her body feel like a lead weight. It felt as if despair was trying to drag her all the way down to Hell, pulling down her smile and her heart, acting like a magnet for tears. She inwardly cursed her cowardice, loathing that she could not even bring herself to stand out of unwillingness to have to confront -

"Celeste." The whispered voice weaved its melodic strands through the silence. Its golden sound penetrated her blanket of misery, reaching her very core.

Celeste was immediately on her feet, hair flying, whirling round to face... nothing. Her dressing room was silent and empty. Trepidation made her quiver and hold a tight grip on the chair behind her, but something about that voice locked her in place.

"Sing for me," the mystery voice bid, and, without question or thought, Celeste complied.

Her voice rang through the small room, and the unearthly beauty of that other voice rose and joined with her.

Time seemed to stand still. It felt to Celeste like the rest if the world had simply disappeared, and all that was left was their entwining strands of melody.

A lifetime later, the music faded. Celeste was left trembling in its wake. Her heart was racing, her breathing was out of control and her head was spinning. She had never been as intoxicated by anything in her life.

"Do not be afraid, child." came the tones again, just as musical in speech as in song. Her eyes searched in vain for the source. Her gaze roved over the dark corners of the room, the shadows behind stands, the large mirror on the wall.

Erik watched her from behind the mirror. "I am not here to hurt you." He let his voice bounce all around her, leaving her to search fruitlessly for him.

"Who are you?" Even though it quivered slightly, her voice was still melodious and sweet. It sent a shiver down Erik's spine to consider what that voice could become.

"Your father sent me."

A slight frown creased Celeste's brow and she lowered her gaze in thought. "My father..."

For a moment, Erik felt the harsh caress of guilt at twisting such youthful innocence, but then those blue eyes lifted again, and any shred of doubt fled his mind.

"You're the Angel of Music?" she asked breathlessly.

Erik chose his words carefully, "For you, child, always."

A tiny amazed breath escaped Celeste's lips. Her eyes fell on the mirror and remained there. Erik felt a prickle of worry that she could be on to him, but the awed smile that was spreading across her face suggested differently.

" I have a proposition to make; I would like to teach you." Erik said, before she had time to doubt.

Celeste's eyes widened. "Teach?" She squeaked.

Erik chuckled softly. "Yes. Your voice...it is unlike anything I have heard before. You're quite a little angel yourself."

The smile that had captured her lips grew. Teach? The Angel of Music wanted to teach her?

Her Angel was still speaking, "I want to watch over you, guide you, guard you from harm. I want to make your music so divine it could make the heavens weep."

"That would be more than I could ever dream of." She breathed.

"I would be watchful always. You need never be alone again." _I need never be alone_, his mind whispered. "But know this: nothing must be more important than the music, that must be all that matters to you."

"Or course," she said, still entranced, "Music is my world."

The smile that was hidden behind the mirror and the mask was nonetheless evident in the Angel's voice, "I am glad to hear it. But it is time for you to depart. Just remember that you are never truly alone. I will always be here for you."

"Yes, Angel, thank you. Goodbye."

Still trembling, Celeste numbly pulled her cloak around her, fumbling at the neck. She opened the door and glanced back over her shoulder as the voice replied, "Goodbye, my little angel."

The words seemed to caress her with their soft beauty. Her smile shone through her eyes as she closed the door behind her and practically danced down the corridor.

Behind the mirror, Erik leaned against the wall. His triumphant laugh echoed down the passage. _His_. His, and he could hardly believe it.

What he would have given to feel like this just a short time ago...what he had given... But that was all over now. For her, he was determined to be new. Maybe, just maybe, he could be her Angel. If he could manage that, surely there was hope he could transcend the Devil-child he had always been?

Celeste had hurried straight to the graveyard and poured her exited thanks out to her father. When she rose from the ground, she felt as though heavenly wings carried her home.

As she got closer, however, the delighted beam slowly fell from her face, and the happy spring faded from her step. When she rested her hand on the handle of her front door, her shoulders sagged and her head drooped.

For not even an Angel could save her from the hell she dragged herself through.


	4. Chapter 4 - Sculpted Angels

Celeste wandered down the corridor, her skirt dancing through the air with each step.

Celeste smiled. Not long ago, dancing had been the best she could hope for. Now, though, she was finally getting somewhere. Today she had learnt much more of their dance, and had even had a chance to practice her short solo.

Her smile widened to remember the elation of joining with the music. Admittedly, the moment had been marred somewhat by the dagger-like stares and poisonous insults Carlotta had been throwing at her, but still...

Celeste reached the door of her dressing room and entered. The moment she crossed the threshold, her head raised.

"Angel?" she called softly. "Are you there?"

She could practically feel the bemused smile. "How on earth did you know?" said the beautiful voice.

Celeste smiled and gave a small shrug of the shoulder, "I can just tell when you're nearby."

"I shall have to watch out for that." was the smooth reply.

Celeste turned to close the door, and looked back over her shoulder when her Angel said, "You seemed a little out of sorts today. What happened at the end of your solo? You looked as if you were about to run away."

Celeste was about to reply that it was nothing; simple nerves, when she heard her voice saying, "Carlotta was trying to put me off."

Erik watched from behind the mirror as a slight frown flickered across her brow. "And you let her get to you?"

Celeste ran a hand through her hair, feeling faintly startled. Again she tried to shrug off her thoughts, but again they spilled out her mouth against her will. "She looked positively murderous. And the things she said...they sounded so true."

Celeste blinked in surprise. That wasn't what she meant to say at all. Usually, she could make any untruth sound believable, but somehow she just couldn't bring herself to lie to her Angel.

The Angel's responding sigh was touched with irritation. "That woman is vile, ridiculous, useless and moronic; not to mention a pathetic excuse for a musician! You're not to believe a word she spews, understand me?" His voice had risen slightly, and the power that had surged into it made the air between them quiver.

Celeste nodded meekly, then said softly, "Are you annoyed with me, Angel?"

"With you?" Erik immediately softened his voice. "No, no, never, my little angel. Carlotta is merely a plague I do not intend to let tarnish this Opera House."

This made Celeste smile, and she raised her eyes. Erik smiled too, but of course she could not see it. He cursed internally. The mirror he concealed himself with was at once both an essential guard to his sanctuary, and a barrier to the world he longed to be a part of.

Erik dragged his mind back to the room Celeste stood in. "I have some music for you. On your table."

Celeste hurried eagerly over to her dressing table and scooped up the score. She frowned and turned. "But..."

"Yes, my little angel?"

Celeste shook her head. "This is the score for Alyssa. This is Carlotta's part; I shouldn't be singing this!"

Her Angel sighed patiently. "Of course you should. While your solo today was sublime, you should be singing the lead. I know you are capable, and heaven knows Lefevre should have seen it by now."

She was still frowning. "But, even if I could do it-"

"You can."

"Even if I could, I would never get the chance. Carlotta wouldn't hear of someone else singing her part."

"No." the Angel's voice had turned firm. "You can, and you will. Don't you worry about Carlotta, just have faith that I have confidence in you."

Celeste looked uncertain, but nodded.

"Now that is sorted..." Erik said, raising his violin, and playing a short melody. He lowered the instrument. "Now you."

Celeste looked confused for a moment, then lifted her chin. Erik closed his eyes as her beautiful voice mimicked the tune perfectly. Though the notes were the same, at her utterance the song it seemed enhanced, blessed, touched by an angel.

The last ringing note gradually faded, and Erik just as slowly opened his eyes. Celeste was looking up, unsure and tentatively expectant.

"Was that alright?" she asked hesitantly.

Erik smiled. "That was divine, my little angel. Now, that melody is repeated throughout the aria. If you sing it like that, your audience will be speechless for days."

She smiled. What a miraculous thing that smile was, though she would never know.

"So," Erik raised the violin again. "From the top."

At the end of the lesson, Celeste left almost reluctantly. Her hand rested on the door handle and she lingered in the doorway. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes searching the room but resting again on the mirror. "Goodbye, Angel," she said softly

Erik moved closer to the mirror. His hand reached out as if with the intention of touching her, but the cold glass halted the motion. The word "Goodbye," managed to escape his mouth and reach her in a way he couldn't. In a way he never could.

Celeste gave a small smile, turned and left. Her light footsteps grew fainter down the corridor.

For one dangerous moment, Erik had a reckless impulse to step out from behind the mirror, follow her, reveal himself to her. _No_, he told himself. He had worked far too hard for this, and he was not about to throw away his only companion for some ridiculous compulsion. The days when he trusted those whims were long gone. No, it was far better for him to remain concealed, and an angel in her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5 - Hannibal

**A/N I didn't want to just copy the dialogue, so I tried to change it a bit. I hope it works and still makes sense...**

"Yes, right, we're going again from the top!" Monsieur Reyer's voice rang out across the stage.

Christine turned to Celeste and sighed. "Always the perfectionist." she murmured.

Celeste nodded, and her eye was caught by movement at the far side of the auditorium. Three men entered. Lefevre she recognised, but the two men walking beside him were strangers. They were both listening to what Lefevre was saying, though their eyes were roaming the impressive space.

"Well, that was fun." said a voice beside Celeste. She turned to see a grinning Meg at her shoulder.

"Better watch out;" Meg continued. "Mother doesn't look at all happy with the dancing. Although, then again, when is she?"

"Meg!" Celeste reprimanded gently, though she and Christine were both smiling.

The sudden sound of Madame Giry's cane banging the ground made the three of them turn immediately. The cacophony on the stage died at once.

"Thank you." said Lefevre, who had made his way on to the stage with his companions. He turned to the now silent company to continue his address. "If I may have your attention? I'm sure you have all heard by now the rumours that have been circulating for some weeks that my retirement is at hand. I am now able to tell you that they are all truthful. I am pleased to present the new owners of the Opera Populaire; Monsieur Richard Firman and Monsieur Giles Andre."

Lefevre swept out his arm to gesture to the two men stood behind him, who acknowledged their polite smattering of applause with accentuated modesty.

Lefevre moved on to displaying Carlotta, and Meg turned back to Christine and Celeste. "Oh, wonderful," she said with mock-enthusiasm. "New managers. Just watch them, already fawning over Carlotta like she's a goddess."

The three of them glanced over to where Andre was showering the Prima Donna with praise.

"It's a wonder she doesn't drown in all the compliments they pour over her." Christine remarked.

Meg giggled. "She is drowning. Her lungs are so full of flattery that she's inflating like a balloon."

All three of them laughed. Celeste cast her gaze back to the new managers. Neither of them were particularly impressive, but then appearances weren't everything. As Meg had noted, they did seem besotted with the self-centred diva, which was never a promising sign. Though maybe they did have potential to run the Opera House adequately. It had been doing so well over the past few years, though its improvement seemed to have taken a toll on Lefevre. Celeste didn't want to think about what would happen if the Opera House closed down...

Suddenly Celeste's head snapped up. Her Angel was nearby! Somewhere, close, her Angel of Music was watching. Celeste started to scan her surroundings for the vaguest hint of her intangible teacher.

Erik watched from high up in the fly of the stage. Concealed among ropes and shadows, his gaze was free to roam over the scene below.

Carlotta was snapping at the director, who jumped at her request at once. _Ridiculous_.

Centre-stage was cleared, and the new managers bobbed out of the way, one looking expectantly excited, and the other rather bored. The dancers moved to the side, and Erik's eyes followed Celeste as she sat gracefully beside her friend, the Daae girl, arranging her beaded skirt around her like an elegant bird smoothing its feathers.

His gaze moved back to Carlotta positioning herself self-importantly. Oh, good, he thought, another display of the hag's ineptitude; or, as her idiotic admirers think, _talent_.

After a short piano introduction, Carlotta's caterwauling began, rising steadily in volume. Erik watched the ballerinas' silent cringing with amusement. He well understood. That role was meant for only the purest of voices; true talent. It should have been Celeste stood there, in her rightful place. Maybe those new managers would see.

Or maybe they'd need some...persuasion.

Erik supposed Monsiers Andre and Firman could have potential. So far they seemed far too pompous to adhere to his instructions, but there were always ways...

So now to put them to the test. Erik rose from his hiding place and swung silently out onto the walkway. Humming softly to himself, he began to unwind the ropes holding one of the backdrops up.

The huge crash of the falling scenery cut off the song, and was followed by delightful pandemonium. Many cried out or jumped back in shock. The managers looked as though they had been hit in the face with sandbags. The ballerinas, of course, erupted into screeches and cries. Little Meg Giry jumped up and started screaming about 'The Phantom of the Opera'. Erik gave a soft laugh - those girls were always wonderful for a scare; he owed half his reputation to the frightened whispers of the ballet rats.

In the midst of the sea of commotion, Celeste had stayed perfectly still. Her dark-haired friend had risen on her knees and grabbed Celeste's hand, but his little angel didn't move. She remained motionless, only her widened eyes roaming the ceiling.

Andre called for quiet, attempting to comfort Carlotta, which brought some order to the stage. The melodramatic diva was being pampered, but was accepting none of it.

Erik watched with amusement as Reyer flapped about, the new managers practically prostrated themselves before the overacting Carlotta, and Lefevre attempted to appear in charge by shouting for Buquet.

The Chief of the Flys dutifully appeared at the side of the stage, and the crowd parted for him.

Lefevre rounded on him. "What in God's name is happening up there, man?"

Buquet shifted slightly on his feet. He was looking faintly shaken, but was clearing revelling in the attention. "It wasn't me Monsieur, I swear to God. I wasn't even at my post. Honestly Monsieur, nobody's up there. Or if there is someone up there, it could only be a ghost!"

This was met with more shrieks from the ballerinas, and Giry cried out again about the Phantom.

"No! No!" Lefevre hurriedly tried to calm the stage down, but there were whispers flying through the air. Buquet was shooed of the stage, but the damage was done.

That Buquet certainly was good for the stories of the Opera Ghost, Erik mused. And always good for a laugh. He had a sharp enough wit, and knew just enough to fuel the fire that kept wrongdoers in line. Although he was starting to get cocky, and curious too. Soon rumours weren't going to be enough, and the man was going to start hunting for facts. Erik was going to have to keep an eye on him...

Meanwhile, down on the stage, Carlotta was in the middle of a tantrum. To the astonishment of the managers she screeched at them in Spanish and flounced away.

Erik couldn't help laughing to himself, watching the managers' expressions as the arrogant Prima Donna deserted them, calling to her ever-faithful Piangi. The rotund man, still resplendent in his Hannibal costume, threw an insult at the managers before waddling after Carlotta like a large dog.

Lefevre was already backing away from the scene, and, with a hasty farewell, all but ran from the place.

The two new mangers now seemed to be wondering what they had taken on.

Andre looked around as though expecting some show of support or sympathy. When no such reaction occurred, he said with forced confidence and joviality, "I'm sure the Señorita will return soon."

Madame Giry stepped forward, eyebrows raised. "Do you really think so, Monsieur?" Good old Madame Giry. Erik knew he could always count on her to be faithful - whether or not she was chiding him for being unwise.

"Yes," Andre said, dismissively.

Celeste turned her attention away from the uninteresting drama on the stage. She raised her eyes to the ceiling again, resuming her search for her Angel. She knew that presence, and it was close by. It was extremely frustrating to know that what she wanted was so close but so unreachable.

Her mind wandered to the longing she always felt in her lessons; the need to truly know her Angel. Time spent in lessons in that dressing room were other-worldly. In such a short time, the Angel had taught her so much that she barely felt the same when she sang anymore. She had been taught how to feel the music, how to live it, breathe it. She has been taught to hear music in the world around her. Most of all she had been taught how to pour her soul into the notes.

Celeste was jerked back to reality at the hum of excited whispers around her. She turned to Christine, a questioning look framing her features.

Christine could see that her friend's concentration had waned again. "The Vicomte was mentioned." she explained.

"Oh," Celeste murmured back. "The one they all have a crush on?"

"Yes, though I wonder..." Christine's voice trailed off and she said no more.

Celeste turned her attention back to the stage in time to hear Andre saying. "Who is the understudy for Alyssa?"

"There is no understudy;" said Reyer, stepping impatiently into the conversation. "This is a new production, Monsieur."

Meg suddenly jumped up and ran forward. "Celeste Bistelle can sing that role, Monsieur."

Celeste rose in alarm and tried to pull Meg back, to no avail.

Firman viewed her somewhat disdainfully. "She's just a ballet girl."

Meg continued brightly, even as Celeste shook her head at her, "Oh no, she's taking lessons from a great teacher."

Andre began to look interested. "Who is this teacher?"

"I...I couldn't give a name, Monsieur." Celeste faltered.

Both managers started to turn away, but Madame Giry intervened. "Listen to her sing, Monsieur; she has been tutored admirably."

Celeste's eyes met Madame Giry's. For a moment as the pause of indecision hung in the air she wondered how the ballet mistress could know about her lessons, or her singing for that matter.

"Very well, then." Andre broke the silence huffily, already turning away.

Christine gave Celeste a small push towards the centre of the stage. Celeste looked back with wide, slightly pleading eyes.

"You'll blow them away." whispered Christine encouragingly.

Celeste moved into the space still left by the Prima Donna.

Andre and Firman had turned their attention from her and were talking. Madame Giry nodded at her, and Meg pressed the scarf Carlotta had been using as a prop into her trembling hands, whispering reassurances before hurrying back to Christine's side.

"Mamzelle, if we go from the beginning of the aria," Reyer said gently, before turning to the managers. "Gentlemen, if you please."

The introduction sounded, disconcerting Celeste somewhat - she was accustomed to hearing it from a violin. She tucked her hair nervously behind her ear and raised her head for her entry.

Though fear was pounding through her every nerve, Celeste focused her thoughts on her Angel. No one else could make her feel so magical when she sang, nor bring confidence and grace to her movements. As long as she kept her mind on her lessons, and the sound of the Angel's beautiful voice, hopefully she could bask in the glow of the wonder.

Erik's eyes trained on the small figure. He tried to focus solely on her. He wanted to ignore all other things, like the bored murmurs of the cast, the insolent managers still not watching Celeste, the loud beating of his own heart.

He was certain that she would excel, assured that she would show just how stupid they were, those impudent, idiotic, pompous -

She began to sing. He smiled, feeling pride swelling in his chest. This was the most beautiful sound he knew.

Erik leant forwards over the railings, not caring that someone might see him. All he was thinking about was the girl whose voice was filling the huge space with magnificent ease.

Erik's smile turned smug when he threw a glance at the managers, who were looking dumbfounded. That showed them.

The song flowed and swelled. Celeste was doing better than Erik could ever have hoped. He knew that her voice was amazing, but he had thought it would take more lessons for her to reach this stage. What a miracle she was.

Her voice soared through the finale, and she looked about ready to fly as the last note rang around the auditorium.

Celeste the elated star stepped back and immediately changed back to a scared girl who looked nervously to her friends. The ballet girls stared back at her with awestruck smiles.

Celeste looked to her other side, to see Madame Giry's satisfied smile. Erik sighed. Trust Giry to be the only one immune to the music.

His little angel was clearly waiting for the sentence from the managers. Andre and Firman, however, were simply staring, astounded. They didn't even attempt to speak.

"Well," managed a smiling Reyer, "I think we've found our Alyssa."

Celeste burst through the door to her dressing room. Her eyes fell to her table, where a single red rose lay.

She moved forwards and picked it up, feeling the soft ruby skin and the delicately sharp thorns.

She turned to the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes still bright. She didn't need the beaded ballet costume anymore, as the grand Prima Donna's costume was even now being fitted for her.

Her eyes met those of her reflection. "Angel?" she called.

Erik smiled and tried to steady his breathing, having just sprinted down the hidden corridors to beat her to the mirror. "You look excited."

She beamed. "I...I'm going to play Alyssa! They want me to sing the lead role!"

"I knew you could do it." he said, pride emanating from his every syllable.

"You were there, weren't you?" she asked hesitantly. "You heard me sing?"

Erik leant against the wall. "Of course I was; I'm always with you."

"Always?"

"Well, as much as I can be." Erik amended carefully. "Especially when you sing."

That made her smile again. "Was it...ok?

Erik laughed incredulously. "You never cease to amaze me! '_Was it ok_?' Did you see the look on Andre and Firman's faces? Did you see Reyer practically skipping on his way out? The reactions of the ballerinas? Of Madame Giry?"

She brushed her hair out of her face. "But what did you think?"

"Me?" Erik's voice softened. "My dear child, if you sing it half that well in the performance I will be the proudest man alive." _Man. Damn._

Celeste didn't seem to notice his slip. Her eyes had fallen shyly to the rose in her hand. "I sang for you. I always sing for you."

That simple statement was enough to snatch words from Erik's lips and thoughts from his very mind. For a moment he said nothing, then he managed to formulate: "That is the highest honour on this earth or above it."

She raised her eyes and smiled. How he wanted to capture that smile. To preserve it. He could watch it for a lifetime.

He raised his hand as if to touch the smile. Of course he could not reach her.

So near and yet so far.

And she would never, could never know.


	6. Chapter 6 - The Vicomte

Celeste tried desperately to calm her nerves. She ran a quivering hand through her hair. Despite her fine apparel she still felt like a child playing dress-up in adult's clothes.

The pressure on her was too much. It wasn't even as though she only had the audience to impress - she also had to please the managers, and she most certainly didn't want to disappoint her Angel.

She glanced over at the wings. Christine smiled encouragingly and mouthed, 'Good luck'.

Then the curtain rose.

As soon as the music began Celeste felt her nerves begin to fade, and when she started to sing her voice only had a faint tremor.

The melodies turned her into a completely different person. The young dancer disappeared in the notes and tunes, transforming into the powerful, strong-willed Alyssa. When they reached her duet with Christine, Celeste looked at her for a moment as not her friend but a slave girl simply delivering a message.

She shook her head slightly to bring herself back to reality. Her Angel had told her never to let the music take her prisoner.

Relaxed by the presence of her friend, Celeste allowed her eyes to move to the audience. Until then she had looked above them, too tense to check their reactions and still searching for her elusive Angel.

Her gaze travelled up to the managers' box. She was relieved to see Andre and Firman looking so smug; that meant the performance was going well.

Beside them, however, was a person Celeste had never seen before. He was a young man, dressed elegantly, with fair hair. He was staring, enraptured, at the stage. Celeste was sure that his eyes were directed not at her, but at her companion beside her.

As she sang she tried to drag her mind back to what the managers had been saying about someone staying in their box. She had been distracted at the time with thoughts of her Angel, but she was sure she had heard something about the Vicomte de Chagny. If Celeste remembered rightly, Christine seemed to get distracted at that point too...

Why would he have that effect on her friend? Unless...

A memory surfaced about Christine's childhood friend; a Vicomte it seemed she had been rather sweet on.

Celeste threw another glance at him. Could this be the boy she talked about? The boy of the attic, Little Lotte, and the red scarf...?

The last note sounded and the curtain fell as applause reverberated around the auditorium.

In the absence of the music faintness washed over Celeste. She barely had a moment to recover before she was enveloped by the ballerinas and their chatter. They squealed excitedly and congratulated her, but were suddenly cut off by the bang of Madame Giry's cane.

She stepped forwards, her face stern as ever. However, her expression softened somewhat when she looked at Celeste.

"It's true," she said. "You sang well tonight. Your teacher will be proud of you; you have surpassed even his expectations."

Celeste beamed. Then she faltered. How could Madame Giry know what her teacher would think?

The instructress turned to the other girls, her air turning strict again. "But you were a complete disappointment!" she said sharply. "Those _rounds de jambes_! And I don't even want to mention the _temps de cuisse_! We will practise until I am satisfied."

The girls looked reluctant but hurried obediently to their positions. Christine shrugged at Celeste. "They're not practising the dances I'm in. Do you want to go back to my dressing room?"

"Hmm?" Celeste said, her concentration still hindered by the adrenaline rush of performing. "Oh, yes, that sounds good. It's closer than mine at any rate."

As they walked Christine talked, but Celeste barely heard her. Her thoughts were still on Madame Giry's words. Would her Angel be pleased? Had she done him proud? Or, God forbid, had she been a disappointment?

Just then a soft, lyrical voice seeped through the wall beside her; "Bravissimo, my little angel."

Celeste stopped dead and looked around her, eyes wide. Though there was no one around that could have uttered those tones, she knew her Angel was nearby again. Feeling like she was under a spell, she slowly turned and extended her hand to the wall. She was sure that this time, this time she could reach him. His presence was practically tangible...

"Celeste!"

Celeste jerked around, snatching her arm back as if she had been burned. Christine, having realised she was no longer beside her, had turned around and was now standing halfway down the corridor, staring at Celeste.

"What are you doing?"

Celeste glanced at the wall, then back to her friend. "Oh, I, um..."

Christine sighed. She walked back, took Celeste's arm and started walking again. "Come on then."

"Yes..." Celeste said vaguely, glancing back behind her before following Christine into her dressing room. She was about to close the door when her dresser bustled in.

"Miss!" the aged lady scolded. "You shouldn't wander off! I had to ask the stagehands where you were."

"Sorry Madame." Celeste said dutifully.

"Very well. But turn around so I can get that skirt off you." The dresser tried to inject some severity into her voice, but to not avail. No matter what, the Madame wouldn't get angry with Celeste - she was used to Carlotta.

"Thank you, Darcella."

Celeste turned obediently and Darcella began to undo her costume. She had just opened her mouth to speak to Christine when an excited Meg burst into the room.

"Wow!" Meg said, her cheeks shining and her smile bright. "It was amazing tonight!"

"Absolutely." Christine agreed, grinning at Celeste.

"Yeah!" Meg squealed. "You were amazing, Celeste. Who knew you would be such a hidden star?"

"Thank you." Celeste said modestly. Darcella removed the skirt and handed over a dressing gown, which she slid on with a soft thanks and _adieu_. Her dresser left with a doting smile.

"You were perfect tonight." came Christine's voice.

"Completely! Oh, I wish I knew how you did it." Meg sighed and held out her tutu. "I'm doomed to be stuck in this forever."

"So what's the magic, Celeste?" asked Christine.

"It's my teacher." Celeste said, and couldn't help the smile that spread across her face.

"Who is...?" said Meg.

Celeste hesitated. "Oh, well..."

She was saved by the sudden snap of Madame Giry's voice. "Meg Giry!"

They all jumped; none of them had seen her appear in the doorway.

"If I am not mistaken, you are meant to be a ballet dancer?" she said. Meg looked at her guiltily and nodded.

"Then you are meant to be rehearsing! Go. Now."

Meg scurried off, grimacing at the other two over her mother's shoulder.

Madame Giry's eyes fell on Christine and she smiled fondly. "I was asked to deliver this to you, my dear." She handed over a letter, then turned and left.

Celeste closed the door behind her. "What does it say?" she asked Christine, who was reading the note with a surprised smile on her face.

"Oh, nothing." she put the paper down, though her smile lingered. "What were you saying about you teacher?"

Celeste looked at her. "Um... Okay, I'll tell you, but just don't think I'm lying."

"Alright."

Celeste ran a hand through her hair. "Well...my teacher...I'm being taught by the Angel of Music."

Christine stared at her. "What?"

Celeste hugged herself nervously. "That's what the voice says."

"And do you believe it?" Christine was staring at her.

"I don't know. There is something...unearthly about my lessons. And it's magical what's happened. And his voice is simply divine. But I've been dreaming about it all my life, and I've wished for it so many times; I just don't know."

Christine paused. "Your voice...well, it certainly sounds like an Angel has been at work."

A smile rose to Celeste's lips.. "Yes... Whoever - or whatever - it is, I'm just grateful it's there." She pulled the robe closer around her. In only a bodice and under-skirt she was beginning to feel the cold.

Christine noticed and smiled. "That makes you a bit more decent for roaming the corridors."

"Speaking of, I should be getting back to my dressing room." _And my teacher, her mind whispered_.

"Are you sure?" Christine asked, pulling on her own dressing gown.

"Yes; it's getting late." _I don't want to keep the Angel waiting._

"Okay, goodnight," Christine grinned and mock-curtseyed. "Prima Donna."

Celeste rolled her eyes. "Goodnight." As she closed the door behind her she saw that Christine had picked up the letter again and was reading it delightedly.

She moved as quickly as possible through the corridors, smiling at the people she passed. Many of them offered compliments and she returned thanks. Though it was wonderful and so kind of people to praise her so, her sincere gratitude was becoming exhausting.

Very soon she heard raucous laughter and Andre and Firman rounded the corner, each with a lady on their arm. Walking with them was the young gentleman who had been sat in their box.

"Ah, Miss Bistelle! Wonderful performance!" Firmam exclaimed.

"Yes, marvellous." Andre agreed. "And the audience was certainly pleased."

"Thank you Messieurs." Celeste said humbly.

"You sang very well, Mademouselle." said the third man.

Celeste blinked. "Thank you." she repeated.

"Oh, yes," said Andre. "This is the Vicomte de Chagny. We were just taking him to see Miss Daae."

"It seems they know each other." Firman said in a loud whisper, apparently thinking the Vicomte couldn't hear him. Celeste nodded to humour him. He had clearly been drinking.

"Actually Miss Bistelle, I wonder if you would mind escorting the Vicomte yourself, as you know more about the Opera House than we do?" Andre asked. This was undoubtedly not his main concern, but Celeste consented nonetheless.

"Of course Monsieur."

"Then we will leave you here." Andre turned to the Vicomte and adopted the same grovelling tone he used with Carlotta. "Monsieur le Vicomte, we just want to thank you again for your interest and say that we are deeply honoured to have you as a patron."

Monsieur de Chagny smiled politely. "Thank you."

"This way then, Monsieur." Celeste said, starting back down the corridor. The Vicomte followed her. Behind them she could already hear the managers talking loudly about some champagne in their office.

"You were very good tonight, Mademoiselle." The gentleman said.

"Thank you." she said once again. "And just call me Celeste. Are you a fan of the arts then, Monsieur?"

"Rather." he replied distractedly.

Celeste hesitated, then said, "Forgive me Monsieur, but you're Raoul, aren't you?"

He turned in surprise. "Yes. How did you..."

"Christine told me about you;" she said, smiling. "Her Vicomte friend from when she was younger."

He stared at her, a slight blush creeping across his cheeks. "She talks about me?"

Celeste had to stifle a small laugh. "You can ask her yourself; this is her dressing room."

They came to a stop. Raoul turned to the door, looking somewhat nervous. "Thank you, Mademoiselle."

"Celeste." she reminded gently.

He looked back at her for a moment. "Celeste." he repeated with a polite nod.

"Goodnight." she said. As she left him he was opening the door and taking something from his pocket.

_Back to my dressing room_. She walked as quickly as she could back the way she had come. Although there was barely anyone left to crowd the corridors, the journey still seemed to take an age.

Unknown to her, Erik was hurrying along the same course not two metres away from her. Jealousy was seething in him. Resentment of that young Vicomte, who could wander about as he pleased, who could talk face to face with Celeste, who was not forced to hide and cower behind a mirror. That charming man she smiled at so much in that small space of time.

She smiled at Erik too. But it was a different smile. Was that good or bad?

With his mind in chaos Erik was on autopilot; taking corners and choosing passages instinctively, almost running in his agitation.

So she wasn't sure about her Angel? He would show her. He would give her the proof, and pull her closer at the same time. He would not lose his little angel to some damn Vicomte!

Without realising it, he had reached the mirror - just in time, too.

Celeste rushed through the door. She shut it quickly behind her, already looking around the room expectantly. "Angel?"

He tried to calm his emotions. "Hello, my little angel." It was such an effort to restrain his angry tongue.

Celeste walked to her dressing table. A smile brushed her lips at the sight of the fresh rose lying there.

"You seemed to be getting on well with the Vicomte." he said suddenly, unable to stop himself.

She looked up with a slight frown. "He was pleasant enough."

"And you noticed him during the performance as well, didn't you?" he pushed.

"Yes, I saw him in the managers' box. I think he has a thing for Christine." Celeste tilted her head. Was her Angel jealous? "But you know that I only sing for you. You...the music...it's everything."

Her words were enough to soothe Erik's writhing anger and give some peace to his thoughts.

Could she really mean it? That it was all for him? She had said the words before, but only now, with her eyes sparkling at him, could he begin to believe her. And he had been sure that her eyes had found his hiding place while she was singing...

Finally able to focus, he noticed how nervous she was looking; she was still waiting for her Angel's verdict on her performance.

"You were magnificent tonight." He made his voice smooth and soft once again.

She beamed delightedly. "Thank you, Angel." That was right. She sang not for Erik, but for some intangible angel.

_Intangible?_ Not for long.

"You have done well, my little angel. It is time you knew me."

Celeste stared. Her Angel's voice was making the air around her vibrate with its power.

"Look at the mirror. You will find me."

Spellbound, Celeste's eyes met those of her reflection. The wide blue orbs of her counterpart stared back, startling against the pale face still painted in garish make up.

Suddenly the image started to shake. Celeste was sure she was hallucinating, because the mirror appeared to slide to the side, replaced by darkness.

The figure of a tall, thin man swathed in shadows loomed out of the blackness. An arm extended from the silhouette towering over her, one pale hand unfurling.

"Come with me, my little angel." The voice surged around her. "Come with your Angel of Music."

Celeste raised a trembling hand and placed it in the white palm. Long, cold fingers curled around hers.

With a gentle pull she was drawn into the darkness.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Phantom

Celeste let herself be led deeper into the shadows. She didn't know how her legs were still working through her trance-like state, but she just kept following her Angel, allowing herself to be pulled along by the gentle tug of his cold hand.

The only light pushing away the veil of shadows was a small lantern held in her companion's hand. Shafts of light played over him, though the illumination made him no less mysterious.

He was very tall: his figure towered high above her. A black cloak flowed from his shoulders, occasionally caressing her arm as it rippled. She could see the shadow of a black suit contrasting with his white shirt.

Her guiding spectre glanced back at her and she could see his face for the first time. Or, rather, she could see part of his face; one half was cast into shadows by the dark hat he wore. From what she could see he had sharp, high cheekbones and a strong jawline. Bright eyes shone from shadowy sockets, burning with an unusual dark yellow flame. But no, her Angel's eyes weren't yellow - they were gold.

A tilt of his head threw his entire face into light. She almost gasped at the startling white of the mask that concealed the right side of his face, sculpted to perfectly match the other half.

His golden eyes looked even brighter against the pale slash of the mask. They roved over Celeste's own face and locked her in his gaze. She barely even noticed her feet were still moving, but she must have kept walking because when he looked away an eternity later they were reaching the edge of a dark expanse of water.

The man halted, bringing Celeste to a stop too. Her Angel stepped back, and without the touch of his hand or eyes she felt lost.

He stooped and lifted a coil of rope from the ground, and pulled. A boat seemed to appear out of thin air and drift towards them. It looked ghostly as it drew closer, its carved wooden sides gliding smoothly across the dark ripples.

It bumped softly into the bank. Her Angel fixed the lantern to the prow, and Celeste could see by a ring of light that a matching one was attached to the other side. He straightened and gestured to the boat with one hand, then took hers in his other, drawing her forwards.

The boat rocked when she placed a foot in it. Balancing herself with the Angel's hand, she stepped all the way in and allowed herself to be guided to the floor of the craft. Perched among a nest of cushions, she glanced back up as a slight rocking told her he had joined her in the vessel.

The faint light from the lantern silhouetted him and made it look as though he was glowing. He raised his hands and gripped a pole attached to the side. With a push of the oar, they sailed off onto the lake of molten night.

After so long spent dreaming about her Angel, it seemed impossible that he was really here, beside her. She was almost sure this was just another dream, a creation of her imagination. She clenched her fists, trying desperately to preserve the illusion, willing the dream not to break.

Celeste tore her eyes from the figure behind her and instead looked out at the dark waters. Dream or not, she didn't want it to end, and just allowed herself to feel content and safe nestled among the soft cushions, accompanied by her guardian Angel.

Erik was surprised that this had actually worked. Now that he had had time to think, he realised just how foolish his actions had been. The jealousy was gone - which was thankful because it always clouded his thoughts - but in its absence panic and paranoia roamed free. What if she realised that she shouldn't be here? What if she turned to him and demanded to know what the Phantom had done with her Angel? What if she told him he had disappointed her?

But she did none of these things. She didn't even move, just sat like a figurehead at the prow.

He could never have dreamt of attempting something like this just a short time ago, but, the longer he was with her, the more entranced she seemed to get, the more trusting. _And the more reckless you get_. Erik shook his head like flicking away a fly. He was not going to lose her.

Erik kept pushing them through the water. Every moment he expected her to protest, but they reached the opposite shore and still she had said nothing. He felt his confidence swell. He could do this. He was the Phantom of the Opera. He was the Angel of Music. He could do anything.

When they bumped softly into the bank he all but leapt out. With nimble fingers he tied the boat to the ring in the ground, then straightened up. He raised his eyes to hers.

The light from his candles flickered over her face, caressing every line of her elegant features. Erik imagined doing the same; being close enough to feel her soft breath on his face, to see every fleck of colour in her eyes... His thoughts sent a thrill through him that he tried to contain. What use would fantasising do if he never even got her out of the boat?

Desperately hoping his hands wouldn't shake, he extended them to her. She placed her own small hands in his, and he gently pulled her to her feet - closer to him. She started to step out of the boat towards him, dropping her gaze to make sure she didn't step in the water. When she was safely on land she raised awe-filled eyes to his again.

Erik suddenly realised how closely they were standing. He was so used to having a mirror between them, but now there were mere inches of air separating him from her. He could sense every tremor that went through her trembling body. The lips from which divine music sprang ware parted slightly in her constant state of surprise. Erik felt a sudden hunger to hear those glorious notes again.

"Sing." The word slipped from his mouth, half choked by the intensity of his thoughts. _Damn it, you're the Angel of Music. The Angel of Music does not falter_. He stepped back to give himself some thinking room. "Sing for me." This time his voice was stronger, surer.

Erik lead Celeste away from the shore, conflicting desires battling in his head. One part of him was begging to pull her closer, another was screaming to push her back and run away.

As it was, Erik managed to keep them the same distance apart, even when he halted.

"Sing for me!" his voice was loud now, its power bouncing around the cavern. "You are my own little Angel of Music; sing!"

Tentatively she opened her mouth, and a short melody bloomed into the shadows.

He made a gesture to carry on singing, immediately regretting how imperious it must have looked. Celeste, however, continued to sing, rising in volume and confidence. He marvelled for a moment at how exquisite she sounded, then took a step back, and another, until he was back by the water's edge.

Erik lowered the hat from his head and let it drop into the boat behind him. He still couldn't break the eye contact, even as he swung the cape from his shoulders in a flourishing motion he was pleased to see make her eyes widen.

He started towards her, but thought better of it and moved instead to stand behind the organ that stood in the centre of the space. She turned with his steps so that she was still facing him. Mist as pale as her dressing gown curled round her delicate figure.

The music blossoming through the darkness was building and building, until there was just one last note resounding through the fog.

For a moment they just stared at each other. The breath fluttered in Celeste's chest. Erik's hands shook over the keys of the organ. He was surprised she didn't start at the loud drumbeat of his heart.

"It's so different, isn't it?" he said slightly breathlessly. "Down here in the darkness. You can feel it, can't you?" He swallowed. "It makes everything more powerful. Your voice...it sounds so much clearer down here. Fuller. That's what the shadows do to music. They let your imagination take over, enhance it.

It's magical. Everything feels so much more...alive. Every thought, every feeling, is more defined. It makes you want to let yourself go. Bit by bit you lose yourself to the night. Anything could happen." On an impulse he stepped out from behind the instrument. He walked slowly towards Celeste.

The elation brought by her singing, her rapt attention, and the adrenaline rushing through him filled Erik with confidence. He started towards her and reached out as though to touch her face. At the last moment he pulled back. He couldn't allow himself to get reckless - there was no mirror to control his actions now.

"Close your eyes." he said, filled with a sudden desire to break the power of her stare. Celeste did as he commanded and Erik breathed a silent sigh of relief. It was so much easier to think without those curious eyes fixed on him. "Feel the night around you. Feel its power. Down in the darkness, you have control. Your deepest desires and wildest dreams can come true without harsh reality. Down here reality doesn't matter. Down here you can live in a kingdom of your imagination."

And you never want to leave!" he burst out in a rush. Realising how desperate he had sounded, he swallowed and tried again more calmly. "You can't really want to go back to where everything's so loud and confused, where the light's blinding and the people are irritating. It's so much better down here, in the shadows and the soft, warm candlelight." He realised he was making a desperate plea for her to remain with him, but he no longer cared how he sounded. If he could get her to stay then he didn't care about anything else. If she was his then the rest of the world didn't matter.

Celeste stared at the dark figure, just listening to him speak. His unearthly voice made every word he uttered a melody of its own.

He moved towards her again, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. She could hear the load beat of her heart resonating through her head, and how rapid and gasping her breaths were becoming.

A wave seemed to crash over her - the thrill and then exhaustion of performing, the shock of the world she had entered, her Angel's presence, the darkness and mystery around her.

Celeste's vision tunnelled. Everything but her Angel became grey and fuzzy. Weakness overcame her and she felt her legs give way. The last thing she saw before the world turned black was the widening eyes of her Angel as he reached for her.

Erik moved automatically when Celeste folded. Before he knew what had happened he was stood with with her small body in his arms. Stunned, he froze in place, just staring.

He was really holding someone, a real, living person. It seemed impossible.

He could feel the heat from her soaking through to his skin. He could see the breath rising and falling in her chest. He could practically hear the blood pumping through her veins.

He felt like a noble knight saving a sweet damsel. He felt like a victorious hero carrying a gentle maiden. He felt like a real man holding a real woman.

_She needs to be comfortable_, was the only coherent thought that could break through his shock. Putting one foot in front of the other, he moved slowly back to the boat. He was reluctant to let her go, now that he knew the amazing sensation of holding somebody close.

Erik suppressed the wish to never let her go, and reverently laid Celeste in the boat.

He lifted his cloak from where he had dropped it and pulled over her, daring to let his fingers graze her shoulders. He knelt by the shoreline and stared at her in wonder. Her porcelain face was completely calm in sleep. Erik reached out a hand, his fingers barely centimetres from skimming her pale cheeks. He couldn't help but smile to himself.

Celeste was his muse, his charge, his little angel. She was the embodiment of his dreams and his music. She was here, she was his, and he knew that he was hers. He may have been in the position of power, but he would bend to her every wish, her every whim.

Again Erik felt the urge to run away from the sudden reality that he found himself in. It was all too easy to lose himself down here, when his only companions were music and candlelight, but Celeste was a constant reminder of the world above. He had been shunned from that world, exiled partly by choice, but she made him want a life again. Something other than the dark and the damp.

Erik gave a soft sigh. He had a terrible feeling that either he was going to end up running from her, or she was going to run from him.

_No, you've got her now. Don't let go_.

Erik smiled again. He stretched his fingers so that they just brushed a curl of her hair. He imagined tucking it behind her ear, feeling the warmth of her skin, seeing the brilliance of her smile.

_Don't let go._


	8. Chapter 8 - The Angel

A soft melody tinkled somewhere nearby. Celeste didn't move, sure that it was something conjured up by her sleeping mind.

Her thoughts drifted halfway between sleeping and waking. She was vaguely aware of the world around her, but at the same time she was lost in her imagination.

The music still didn't stop. It really was quite beautiful, Celeste thought absently. Very soothing, even more beautiful than the tunes she remembered being played at the concerts her father used to take her to. So beautiful, and she was so warm and comfortable, and her duvet was so soft...

Celeste frowned. It wasn't her duvet. It didn't even feel like her bed.

She opened her eyes. Her gaze drifted through darkness for a few moments before finding the source of the tinkling melody: a music box, with a monkey dressed in Persian style perched on the top. Its mechanical arms moved back and forth in time with the tune, the small cymbals it held never quite touching.

The music stopped, and the sudden silence shook Celeste properly awake.

She sat up.

She was in a small boat that rocked gently on the dark waters of a lake, which stretched out past the shadows. She was kept from floating into the expanse by a rope tied to the boat and a ring embedded into the bank to her side.

Tendrils of pearly mist curled over the carved wooden sides of the boat. They tried to grab at her, but the soft material covering her acted as a shield.

Celeste rubbed a hand across her face then looked around her. On one side the water seemed to stretch on forever, but she remembered from the boat ride that the shore wasn't that far away.

Just then she heard more music, but this time it was more intense, and sounded like it came from some kind of organ, rather than a music box. 'An organ, down here?' she thought numbly.

Celeste's eyes were pulled by the music and fell on the organ that looked very out of place in the world of shadows. It looked almost as strange as the man sat at it.

At the sight of the tall figure in the suit Celeste had to press her hand to her mouth to silence the gasp that escaped her. In her dream-like state the night before she had skipped over the strangeness of the situation, but now she was awake and couldn't blind herself to reality. Without the strange haze clouding her mind everything seemed much more real - the air was cold, the cavern was dark, and the man was the only person who knew she was down here.

She shivered, not just from the freezing mist, but at her isolation and the stark white mask that covered one side of the man's face.

The mask itself wasn't alarming - slightly disconcerting, but it was sculpted to match the other side of his face almost perfectly - yet it's connotations were chilling. A mysterious masked man haunting the corridors of the Opera House... Celeste's mind rang with stories of the Phantom. Horrific stories. But that was what they were, wasn't it? She had always dismissed them as myths, but when he was right there before her?

She had to know. She had to be sure that he wasn't... What? A ghost? An angel?

He had definitely been real last night; she had felt his hand holding hers. And she didn't even believe in ghosts. She knew only too well that once someone was dead they never came back. But then, if he wasn't the Phantom, who was he?

He had been an angel to her. But then again, she knew angels weren't real either, and she found it difficult to reconcile the mysterious and potentially dangerous figure before her with the angelic voice that had called to her so tenderly. So who had she followed unquestioningly into the darkness?

Whoever or whatever he was, she needed to know.

Celeste rose unsteadily in the boat, feeling how much it rocked without her Angel beside her to steady it.

She stepped out cautiously onto the shore and looked back over to him. He hadn't moved, and the occasional chord or short string of notes came from the organ he pondered over.

She crept towards him. Surely it wouldn't do any harm to see what was under the mask? He certainly couldn't be an ghost or an angel, but she could at least know who the man was.

She edged closer, curiosity sparking the courage to continue. She was just inches from him now, she could almost brush his arm. Her hand rose -

He started to play. When she had only heard small snatches of music it had had been easy to ignore, but when put together the sound froze her in awe. The chords were disjointed, and the melody incomplete, but the sound coaxed from those keys was unearthly. Unearthly and unfamiliar, and completely new and beautiful.

"Did you write that?" she blurted.

The man started and his head snapped to her. In the haze of sleep, she had forgotten the shine of his oddly coloured eyes.

Celeste stared at him, and Erik stared right back.

How had she managed to creep up on him like that? He was sure that just a moment ago she had been asleep in the boat.

He was supposed to be the Phantom. He was supposed to be the one to creep up on people, to make their hearts pound. He was not supposed to be the one that jumped in alarm, nor the one that sat, speechless, unable to tear his eyes away from the person in front of him. The person he was certain had been passed out, her hair fanning out around her like a black halo.

"Did you write that?" she repeated, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He broke her stare. "Yes." he stammered. _Get it together, man_. "Yes." he said again, his voice steadier, though he took care to keep his eyes on the notes in front of him. "I did."

Watching out of the corner of his eye, he saw her head turn to look at the music too.

"It's...amazing." she said softly.

They stayed there for a moment in silence.

He looked over at her. She was stood by the piano, one hand resting lightly on its smooth surface, the other brushing her hip. There was a look of awed concentration on her face as she regarded the stave before her. Her bright eyes flickered from side to side.

The night before he had been in control, he had governed where she was and what she did - until she fainted, of course. Now, though, she was in full possession of her decisions, and she was choosing to stand right beside him.

Did she realise what a miracle she was, simply by being there? And being so close to him. People never stood so close. If they did, they fell to the floor within moments. But she was still there.

Suddenly Celeste turned back to him, caught him staring. He looked instantly back to the music.

"What's your name?" she asked after a moment.

He looked back at her, startled. "My name?"

"Yes."

Something like panic clenched in his chest. "Isn't 'Angel of Music' good enough?" he asked desperately.

Her head tilted. "My father used to say 'there are no angels or demons; only the ones we create for ourselves'."

Erik paused for a moment. Did this mean she was losing faith, that she didn't believe him anymore? Was she doubting her Angel? Would she leave him? Her words sounded wise, and she seemed to trust them. But then, if that was so, why had she accepted him for so long?

And why did she want to know his name anyway? What difference would it make to her? Why would she ask if she was going to leave him? But why would she stay? And what would telling her his name do, except to torment Erik with the wish to hear it from her lips again and again?

"Erik." he said after a moment, ignoring his frantic thoughts. "My name is Erik."

A smile formed on her lips. "Erik." she repeated softly. It sounded as painfully perfect as he had feared. "Erik." Her gaze drifted to his score again.

"You performed wonderfully last night." Erik said suddenly.

Her eyes flicked back to him, then down to the floor as a soft blush touched her cheeks. "Thank you."

"I'd be surprised if you didn't become the star of this Opera House." he continued, encouraged by her apparent relaxation.

Her blush spread, but her smile faded. "Not if Carlotta has anything to say about it. I'll bet she's furious that they even went ahead and performed without her."

"If the managers listen to her they're more stupid than I thought."

Celeste's smile twitched back. "How stupid do you think they are?" There was a curious sparkle to her eyes.

"I think they have more teeth than intelligent thoughts." he replied honestly.

To his surprise, the comment triggered a laugh from her. Erik watched, entranced, as her lips parted with the joyful sound, the simple beauty of it dancing through the air, resounding through the cavern. Even once her laughter had stopped he couldn't help but stare at her. The idea that such a glorious sound could be by him, for him; not derisive or mocking, not cruel or vindictive. It was wonderful, and it was all his.

"Stupid or not, though," she said more seriously, breaking the spell. "They'll do whatever she says; they're wrapped around her little finger. And I'll bet that if they even try to refuse she'll just threaten to make all the patrons withdraw, or to turn the newspapers against them."

Erik considered for a moment. "They're morons." he concluded. "And, anyway, Reyer adores you, and Madame Giry will back you up." He gave a slight start. 'Madame Giry. Damn.' She would be back at the theatre any time soon. He had to take Celeste back as quickly as possible and hope that Giry hadn't noticed her absence. God alone knew what she would do to Erik when she found out what he was up to.

Erik glanced over at Celeste. Then again, what did he care what the woman did? His little angel was here and, no matter what Giry said, nothing could change that, or take away the memory of the smile she was giving just for him.

After silent inner argument, Erik rose. Better to minimise the ballet mistress's wrath.

He stepped out from behind the piano stool and offered his hand to Celeste. "Come on; I should take you back up."

She paused before taking his hand again. Erik knew that she, like him, was remembering last night, and everything that had changed between them.

He could feel the way her gaze gravitated towards his mask and was suddenly very aware that no matter what he said or did he couldn't block the rest of the world out. His past was as blighted as hers was perfect. She would always be as whole and pure as a sculpture, and he... Well, if he was a sculpture it was a smashed one.

How could he expect the angel to be his? After all this time he should have realised that he didn't deserve anything but rejection. He had no right to the glowing perfection he so craved.

Celeste's eyes met Erik's, and she put her hand in his once again.


	9. Chapter 9 - Return

Erik took Celeste through a different passage than he had brought her down. It was longer, as it took a more winding down past corridors and up remote stairs before coming out by the boxes in the auditorium.

The longer route was a wise choice, he told himself, because they were less likely to run into anyone if they spent more time in the hidden passageways. He tried to suppress the knowledge that it also meant that it took longer before he left her.

As Erik lead her through the hidden ways of the Opera House, he kept a firm hold on Celeste's hand. He was surprised by how tightly she gripped back.

Before exiting the passage he paused, pressing his ear to the door to check no one was out there. It was still early, but there was still the chance that some ballerinas might be wandering about.

Once he was sure the corridor was empty he stepped out and tugged Celeste with him. She looked surprised about where they were, and blinked rapidly against the sudden assault of sunlight after so long spent in darkness and candlelight.

They set off again, and, though he knew she could get around the Opera House perfectly well by herself, he kept hold of her hand. She made no move to free herself.

He swept a glance around the auditorium as they passed a gap in the curtains. Everything seemed quiet and empty until he looked up to the flys. Buquet stood there, and Erik could see that he was staring at the pair of them.

Erik cursed under his breath. _Damn that meddlesome fool!_ Who knew what stories he would start spreading? He would definitely have to be dealt with at some point.

He was about tell Celeste that he would take her back to her dressing room when he heard footsteps.

Erik stopped short. He recognised the footfalls of Madame Giry. Things were definitely not going right for him.

Celeste had halted beside him and was tilting her head questioningly when he turned quickly to her.

"I'm going to have to leave you here," he said quickly, trying to keep his voice low so that he wouldn't be heard. "But I'll see you for your next lesson."

Celeste nodded. "Okay." It was the first thing she had said since they had left the lake.

He took the folded not from his pocket and give it to her. "Give this to Madame Giry. She'll understand." Regretfully, Erik released her hand and stepped back. He lingered for a moment, but the footsteps were getting louder.

As he turned and strode off, he heard her soft, "Thank you." His glance back caught her slight smile before she was out of sight and he disappeared back through the hidden door.

Celeste watched the strange figure go. She still felt like she was in some kind of dream. She ran her hand through her hair, trying to get a grasp on her thoughts.

"Miss Bistelle!"

The sharp voice made her turn. Madame Giry had rounded the corner and was fixing her piercing stare on Celeste.

"Hello, Madame."

Madame Giry's expression was unreadable. "We wondered where you had got to."

"Well, last night I -"

The ballet mistress stopped her with a wave of her hand before Celeste could even try to think of a lie. "You ought to go home; you look tired."

"I'm alright, thank you, Madame."

Madame Giry pursed her lips. "You should at least get some rest. A big performance can be exhausting."

"Oh, yes," Celeste felt relieved to be given an excuse to leave. "I'll go to my dressing room." She started to walk past Madame Giry.

"I'm surprised you didn't go there last night." Madame Giry called after her.

Celeste froze. "I'm sorry, Madame?" she said, without turning.

"You are still in your costume, Miss Bistelle."

Celeste looked back over her shoulder, staying carefully silent.

"I would have thought, after such a big performance, you would at least want to change." the ballet mistress continued.

Celeste still said nothing - what could she say? There was no story she could conjure up to explain the oddity of her clothes, or why she was wandering around the Opera House at whatever time it was.

Madame Giry raised her eyebrows, looking as if she had just understood something unpleasant.

_Well, I doubt I can get any more suspicious. _Celeste held up the envelope still clutched in her hand. "I was asked to give this to you, Madame."

Taking the note, Madame Giry's expression soured even more. She looked back at the apprehensive Celeste. "Very well. Go and get changed then, no doubt you will be required at rehearsals."

Without another word, Madame Giry swept away down the corridor. Celeste breathed a sigh of relief.

After waiting a moment to ensure her walk would be unaccompanied, Celeste set off back to her dressing room.

Flowers. That was the first thing Celeste could see when she entered her dressing room. Since she had left last night, several bunches of flowers had been put in her room. Varying shades of pinks and creams filled her dressing table, and a few bouquets had been placed on the floor. The gestures were touching, but none of them meant as much to her as the first flower that had been lying on her table.

Celeste bent and scooped up that single red rose from where she has dropped it the night before. Just as she had then, she ran her fingers across the petals and down along the thorns.

She looked up at the mirror. This was exactly the same reflection she had seen when she had stood here last time - the costume, the makeup, the rose - but something about it was different. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she was sure something had changed. Maybe it was that her hair was coming down, or that her markup was smudged. Maybe it was that her face was paler after a strange night's sleep. Or maybe it was that the mirror meant something different now; it was a gateway to the hidden world below the Opera House, the world of her Angel, of Erik.

Celeste stepped forward and stretched her hand out to touch the mirror. Her fingers grazed its cold surface, and she almost expected a voice to issue from behind it, or for it to open and reveal the masked man again. Nothing happened, unsurprisingly, and disappointingly.

She leant her head against her reflection and closed her eyes. Was she so sure that it had all been real? She could have fallen asleep in her room last night, and had a strange dream... _No_. She remembered all to well the cold shadows, the damp mist, the notes coaxed from the organ. Erik's hand clutching hers.

Celeste's eyes opened against the glass. Not a dream then. It was too impossible to be real, and yet it was.

She sighed and straightened up. She couldn't spent all day in her dressing room, lost in her thoughts.

Feeling like it had been a lifetime since she had put it on, Celeste took off her dressing gown and costume, replacing it with the dress she had come to the theatre in before the performance. Back in its familiar folds, she began to feel more like herself, especially once she had scrubbed the last of the makeup from her face.

She dragged a brush through her hair, but the curls still clung there, and the night sleeping by the lake hadn't done her any favours. Celeste scowled at the mass of tangles and fading ringlets. God, she wished she could look passably human on a normal morning, but this was even worse. She looked like she had been buried alive then hauled out of the grave to face the burning morning light.

A knock on the door jolted Celeste out of her thoughts.

"Celeste?" Christine's voice called.

Celeste checked her reflection. Similarities to a corpse aside, the girl staring back at her looked fairly normal. At least, normal enough that her friends shouldn't notice anything too strange.

"Come in." she called.

The door opened, and Christine's face poked in. "Morning." she chirped.

Christine looked radiant in comparison to the reflection Celeste had been looking at. Whereas Celeste's eyes were ringed with shadows, Christine's were bright and sparkling, matching the beaming smile spread across her face.

"Morning. You're cheerful."

"Well, it was a great night last night. The performance, I mean." Christine hurriedly added.

"Yes..." Celeste said slowly.

"Come on then; we don't want to be late for rehearsals."

Celeste glanced back at the mirror and rubbed her cheeks to try and coax some colour into them. Maybe she should have left the makup on after all. "Coming." She turned back to Christine and saw that her friend was giving her a strange look.

"What?" Celeste asked, walking past Christine into the corridor.

Christine followed, closing the door behind her, and fell into step with Celeste. "Isn't that the same dress you were wearing yesterday?"

Celeste hoped her frown was convincing. "No."

"But I'm sure that's what you had on."

"You're imagining things. Did you get hit on the head last night or something?"

To her surprise, a smile sprang to Christine's face. "No...no, I..."

Celeste was about to question her when they passed a group of ballet girls. Celeste smiled at them, but the huddle gave her a joint glare and walked straight past.

Celeste looked at Christine. "Is it just me, or are they acting strangely?"

"They were fine earlier." Christine shrugged.

Celeste shrugged too and tried to push the image of their glaring faces to the back of her mind. The further they walked through the Opera House, however, the more glares she received. Every one of the girls Celeste had spent hours practicing with, some of whom she had known for years, were suddenly turning their backs to her. There were none of the compliments or excitement of yesterday; they were replaced with whispers and resentment.

"They're just jealous;" Christine said sympathetically. "Everyone's talking about how amazing you were last night, and they all feel bitter about the fact that you actually have talent."

Celeste sighed. "Thanks." she said half-heartedly.

"Ignore them." Christine took Celeste's arm and tugged her out of the trudge she had adopted. "They're being petty."

Celeste envied her friend's energy for a moment; she suddenly wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bed. Sadly, that was impossible, as she still had rehearsals to deal with, and then she would have to go home, where - _Don't think about it!_

Matters were only made worse when the pair rounded a corner and almost ran into La Carlotta. The diva drew herself up to her full height and her smug smile grew. "So," she drawled in her thick Spanish accent. "Here is the little _ingenue_, returning to try and usurp my position again."

Celeste tried to say something, but the only thing that came out was a stutter that sounded vaguely like, "I'm sorry, I don't -"

"You won't get away with it this time!" Carlotta hissed, cutting across Celeste. "The managers have reinstated me to my proper place, and you are nothing more than a ballet dancer once more, which is just as much as you deserve." She raised her chin and looked down her nose at the pair. "How did you do it then? Manipulate your way to singing the lead."

"I didn't!" Celeste managed to blurt. "I just -"

"You stole my part! Alyssa is mine, and you are nothing but a filthy ballet rat! So what did you do? Bribe the managers? Or a patron? Was it the Vicomte? He did seem particularly impressed by you - did you pay him, or share his bed?"

Celeste stared in shock. "I never - I didn't - I -" Normally she could keep her cool, but the way Carlotta fired accusations at her made her head spin and her tongue stop. After so many years dreaming of music stars, the woman who was furthest from a role model could still shake Celeste with a few spiteful words.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Christine said indignantly, coming to Celeste's rescue. "Celeste would never do that, and neither would the Vicomte! Celeste just sang, which she can do much better than anyone, including you."

"Foolish child! Don't try to deceive me with that act! She was with him last night, weren't you, you wretch? Paying your debt!"

"No she wasn't!" Christine exploded. She took a step forwards and Celeste grabbed her arm, trying to hold her friend back from launching herself at the singer.

"And how could you possibly know that?" Carlotta scoffed.

"Because last night he was having supper with me!"

A shocked silence followed Christine's outburst. She froze, breathing heavily in her anger and glaring defiantly at Carlotta, who stared at her for a moment before sneering at the pair and flouncing away.

"No matter," she called behind her. "You are still back in your place, and I in mine!"

Celeste watched the Prima Donna walk away, feeling a dull ache in her chest. Trying to ignore it, she turned back to Christine.

"Sorry." Christine said with a sheepish smile. "She just gets on my nerves."

"It's fine," Celeste said, surprising herself by half-laughing. "I'm grateful. But you absolutely have to explain everything."

A voice interrupted Christine's protest. "Ah, Miss Bistelle."

Celeste turned to see Firman and Andre striding towards her. She forced a smile back onto her face. "Good morning, Messieurs."

They smiled back overly-enthusiastically.

"I wonder if we could have a moment to talk to you." said Andre.

"Alone." added Firman.

Celeste's heart sank at the fake joviality and strained smiles - this could be anything but good news.


	10. Chapter 10 - What You Heard

"So where were you?" Meg asked, again.

Celeste sighed patiently. "I told you: I went home. I was tired."

"But no one saw you." Meg persisted. "And no one saw you come back in either."

"I really don't know, Meg. What do you think happened?"

Meg pouted for a moment in silent thought. Celesta glanced over at Christine, who raised her eyebrows.

Meg suddenly leant forwards in excitement. "Were you kidnapped by the Opera Ghost?"

"What?" Christine said incredulously.

"The Opera Ghost. He sometimes takes young girls from the Opera House, and do you know what he does?" She lowered her voice atmospherically. "He takes them to his lair," she paused, eyes wide. "And slits their throats."

Celeste laughed uncomfortably. "I highly doubt it, Meg."

"And that's if they're lucky. Sometimes, the Ghost will make them his bride, and then-"

"Ok Meg, stop." Christine interrupted, thankfully. "That's simply not true."

"It is," Meg insisted. "Buquet said."

Celeste raised an eyebrow. "Buquet? That's who's word you're going on? It's definitely not true."

"Yes it is! And do you know what else he said? He was telling the ballerinas all about the Phantom, and the ways he's murdered people, and how he's so hideous that even the rats run away from him."

"No," Christine said in mock-horror.

"Yes! They say his face is yellow, and he has no nose -"

"That's just ridiculous." Celeste said; the pale visage of him, of Erik, still vivid in her mind. If the other two even suspected what had happened the night before...

"He saw it! Buquet saw him! And he's tall, and sometimes has a head of flames, and -"

Celeste leaned forwards. "Careful Meg; walls have ears."

A look of terror crossed Meg's face for a moment, and her two friends burst into laughter.

"No! It's true! He kills people; he strangles them with his lasso! Or sometimes with his bare hands!"

"Oh yes? And how does Buquet know all this?" Christine asked skeptically.

"He's seen him."

Celeste and Christine exchanged a look.

"He has!" Meg protested. When neither of the others seemed to believe her, her expression turned sulky and she sprang off Celeste's dressing table. "I'm going to talk to the other girls. They'll agree with me."

Celeste sighed. "That's because most of them are air-heads, Meg."

"Oh, so now that you get to do a bit of singing you're above us?" Meg huffed and walked out.

Christine looked at Celeste. "She doesn't know you're dancing again?"

Celeste shook her head. "I haven't told her yet."

"I'm sorry." She gave a sympathetic smile. "What did the mangers say?"

"Oh, Carlotta told them she should be singing, and Andre and Firman agreed. Long story short, they told me they were very grateful but they thought it would be better if I stayed with the ballerinas."

"Ouch."

Celeste smiled. "I'm fine, though. I had a chance, and it was great, and now I get to be back with my friends. It's fine."

"You know the others are still jealous. They're going to take it out on you, even if it was just one night."

"I know." Celeste ran a hand through her hair. She had already seen what the ballerinas' attitude was.

"Are you going to be dancing with us when we go back to the rehearsal?" Christine asked.

"Yes, once Carlotta actually lets anyone else stand on the stage. I guess I'll have to relearn the dance as well. Although it'll need to be changed again to accommodate me." She groaned. "Maybe it'd be easier if I just went and sat in the orchestra pit and kept out of everyone's way."

"Don't say that."

"It'd make a lot of people much happier."

"But not you." Christine sighed. "Celeste, we both know that you want to be on the stage whatever part you're playing. And the girls will get over it, and no one really cares what La Carlotta thinks, except the managers."

Celeste smiled gratefully but still looked unconvinced. Christine gave her a sideways grin.

"Besides," she said. "You don't want to make your teacher's efforts for nothing, do you?"

That brought a real smile to Celeste's lips and eased the ache of disappointment in her chest slightly. "No. No, I don't."

"Were they pleased?"

"Yes, they were happy with how I sang. Although now that I'll barely be singing, maybe they won't feel the need to teach me." Celeste's heart clenched. Would he

leave? She didn't want him to. Did she? What would she do if he did leave? What would she do if he stayed?

Christine must have noticed the panic building in Celeste's expression, because she consoled, "I'm sure your Angel will stay, if they're that proud of you. They're not going to give up on you."

Celeste sighed. "I hope not." she rose to her feet. "I suppose we ought to be getting back. Who knows, maybe Carlotta'll let the rest of us practise this afternoon."

Christine smiled and stood too. "Ready to face the others?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Celeste looked past her friend, to the mirror filling her wall. Was she ready? Not just to see Carlotta and the girls, but to continue smiling when her dream had been achieved then swiftly crushed. And what about her teacher - what would he make of the turn of events? Was he watching her now? Was she ready to face _him_ again?

Celeste met Christine's eyes. "Yes." she said, although she wasn't sure which question she was answering.


	11. Chapter 11 - Across the Lake

Erik ignored her for as long as he could. Even when her footsteps were within metres of the organ he feigned deafness, not looking up from the score in front of him. He focused on each note he penned, hoping faintly that if he pretended not to notice her the damnable woman would go away.

Madame Giry banged her stick loudly against the rocky floor. Erik considered continuing his play of deafness, but his head jerked up at the sharp, "Erik!"

"Yes." he said, with exaggerated patience.

"What on earth do you think you are doing?"

He pretended to look down at the score in confusion. "I'm writing music. I'd have thought that would be -"

"Do not play games with me - you know full well what I mean!" Madame Giry interjected, looking as angry as Erik had ever seen her. "Your abduction of Miss Bistelle hardly went unnoticed!"

"She came with me of her own free will." Erik said with a shrug. "As far as I can see, I've done nothing wrong."

The glare Giry gave him was almost enough to make him cower. "She's a vulnerable girl, something that you took advantage of."

"I took advantage of nothing;" Erik responded. "She's strong enough, and she can think for herself."

"She's just a child!" Giry snapped.

"She's no more a child than I am." he countered, then cut her off before she could speak again. "And she's not your child."

"She may as well be!"

"But she's not. I, however, am her teacher, and as such I have a right to teach her where I choose." Erik was keeping his building annoyance pressed down, hidden under the arrogant front he often adopted as the Phantom. Getting angry with Madame Giry was not a good idea.

"I am more her teacher than you, and I have never been compelled to drag her into hidden caverns where no one can find her."

"I would have let her go, if she had wanted me to." Erik said cooly.

Madame Giry raised an eyebrow.

Erik's temper broke through his calm façade. "I would have done, dammit!" he exploded, bringing his fist down onto the organ with a bang. "I am not some monster preying on her; I simply want to work with her voice! Is that too much to ask? To be allowed to have a little human interaction that isn't with some ballet mistress who believes I am either a petulant child or a marauding savage! I will not harm her, and I am not about to give up the one person who has not rejected me!"

A ringing silence followed his outburst, the last echoes of his shouted words haunting him down the cavern.

"I hope you know what you're doing." Madame Giry said eventually, her disapproval evident in her face and voice. "But," she added warningly. "If anything is to happen to her -"

"It won't." Erik said firmly. That, at least, he was sure of. "Did you deliver my notes?" he asked, hurriedly changing the subject before she could start again.

"Yes." Giry said, her frown deepening. She pressed her lips together tightly, as though physically restraining her long-attempted reprimand about his manner of approaching the managers.

"And?" Erik prompted.

"They are...unwilling to cooperate. You will not be paid, Miss Bistelle will resume her role in the chorus, and Carlotta - though affronted - will be singing the lead again."

"Damn!" Erik shouted, his temper flaring again. How dare the managers be so impudent! Those ignorant fools would get a wake-up call like they'd never had before!

Madame Giry pursed her lips, apparently already dreading the no-doubt unsavoury methods of persuasion he would use. "Whatever you do from here, do not involve Miss Bistelle in your plans."

"Of course not." Erik snapped, but he knew she had a valid point. He would have revenge, but he did not want Celeste getting caught up in it. If he wasn't careful she could be blamed by the managers, be harmed, or, worse still, reject him. He had pushed his luck the night before, and he had seen the traces of doubt in her. By keeping her distracted he had pulled through, but he would need to wait a while and secure her trust before attempting to rebuke the dimwitted men in the office above.

While he had been thinking, Giry had been watching him critically, her face taut and one eyebrow arched.

"Nothing will happen to her, so don't lecture me." Erik said, his voice smooth and calm again. "I'm not going to let her get hurt."

Giry's expression softened surprisingly. "Keep her safe." she said, then turned and strode across the rock floor.

At the opening to the passage she had entered by she stopped and looked back at Erik. "Buquet is becoming more troublesome."

Erik's jaw clenched. "He's spreading rumours again?"

Giry nodded. "He has stopped listening to my warnings."

"I'll deal with him." If he could silence Buquet and give the managers a scare at the same time, he could kill two birds with one stone. And he would have plenty of time to plan, if he was waiting to create a steadfast relationship with Celeste.

Madame Giry interrupted his scheming, "Do not do anything reckless."

Before Erik could respond, she had disappeared down the corridor.

Erik sighed. Inexorable as Madame Giry was, he knew her intentions were good and she did try to assist him, in her own way. He also knew she would stick to her principles, including protecting the young girl she felt responsible for. Erik just wished she didn't have to be so irksome about it, especially as he had half hoped she would not feel the need to reprimand him before he had really done anything wrong. Yes, he was planning a retaliation, but what business of hers was it how he conducted his own affairs? The managers would not listen to _him_, so _he_ would deal with it as he saw fit - she did not come into it, nor anyone else.

And yes, he _had_ taken Celeste away from her dressing room in secret, but it wasn't like he had villainous intentions. And he had taken her back, none the worse for wear - which Erik had to admit was a feat, given his track record.

In fact, the whole endeavour had gone rather well, Erik thought. Celeste had certainly not shown any of the repulsion or horror that he had feared, and she hasn't turned him down when he had mentioned continuing her lessons.

No, all in all, Erik was rather pleased with himself. His young student had come face-to-face with him without incident, meaning hiding behind the mirror was no longer necessary; he now had the option of teaching her down by the lake, where he could use the organ as well as the violin; and Celeste had even shown an interest in his music and _him. _

Erik remembered the way she had held onto his hand all the way through the passageway, until they had been forced to part by the inconvenient arrival of Madame Giry. He was pleased to recall that when he had left Celeste she seemed shocked, yes, but there was also awe in her expression (and, he admitted, curiosity).

Perhaps, as time went on, they would grow even closer. A few lessons and the short conversation that morning, and Celeste knew him as well as almost anyone had. He found it strangely easy to speak to her, and knew that he was dangerously likely to open up if she continued to question him.

_Damn_, Erik thought, though he could not help the grin spreading across his face. Damn that girl and her inexplicable interest, and her divine voice, and her trust in him, and the way she had smiled for him...


	12. Chapter 12 - Home

Celeste sighed and rubbed her face. She stared at her reflection in the small mirror on her bedside table and sighed again at how tired she looked.

Despite the exhaustion of her body, she couldn't make her mind quieten down. Thoughts were buzzing around her head with no regard for the time, the darkening of the sky outside, or the softness of her bed.

She sighed again and stood back up from her bed. There really was no point trying to sleep.

Celeste drew back the heavy curtains at her window, allowing the coolness trapped behind them to seep into the room. The growing darkness beyond the panes was turning her gentle Paris into a tangle of shadowed streets, bands of lamplight, and the whispers of a chill night breeze. It was at the same time unsettling and intriguing.

The mixture of apprehension and excitement tugged to the forefront Celeste's mind the memory of the unnatural dark that had been revealed to her behind her dressing room mirror.

She ran a hand through her hair. She finally had time to think about the night before, but she wasn't sure she wanted to dig beneath the surface and shatter the dream.

Celeste sat down behind the curtain, pulling it closed and immersing herself in darkness. She hugged her legs and rested her head against her knees, as she used to whenever screams rang through the house. _Not that,_ her mind pleaded, _I'll remember anything but that._

Turning her thoughts away from fear, she rubbed her eyes and thought back to him. _Her Angel. _No, not an Angel but a man; Erik. She didn't know herself why she had followed him - normal girls would never have allowed a strange man to lead them into mysterious passageways. And yet she had trusted him, which was impossible, and ridiculous... And completely justifiable when she remembered his childishly eager smile and immensely sad eyes.

By why _had_ she trusted him? Before she had even seen him, she had felt safe whenever she sensed his presence, had been unable to lie to him, and knew that she would have done anything he asked of her. It was an unwise way to act, she knew; naive and potentially dangerous. She was being a ridiculous child, who had allowed herself to be deceived simply because she had wanted to think that her father was still looking after her.

_Idiot. _It was her father himself who had told her there was no such thing as angels, and yet she had believed that some mystical teacher could somehow be a divine present from him? _Not believed, really: hoped._

Her father was gone, and he wasn't coming back. There was no way for him to reach or protect her, so there was no point wasting her time wishing, and making rash decisions out of longing.

_So leave him. Tell the Angel you don't want him as a teacher anymore._ But she couldn't. Not after everything he had done for her, after feeling happier than she had for who knows how long, after she had seen how vulnerable, how _human_ he himself was.

_It would hurt him if I left. A lot. _That she knew for certain. And, no matter if she tried to deny it, it would be torture for her to leave him.

So though it was stupid, it was reckless, it was completely absurd, she would stay with him. She _needed_to, for her sake as well as his. A companion she already had faith in so surely was not something to give up lightly.

Celeste stood, wiping tears she hadn't noticed from the corners of her eyes. She took one last look out of the widow, at the darkness and the growing mist. She knew that before long she would have mist and shadows wrapping around her again like the devil's own embrace. _And you want that,_ her mind whispered.

The warmth of her room enveloped Celeste the moment she stepped out from the curtains, as though she was had suddenly been drawn back into reality.

She turned back to her bed, drawing the curtains behind her. The soft rim of light cast by her bedside candle called to life echoes of other memories - older, warmer.

_"Goodnight Celeste." the man with shining eyes and warm smile said softly. He stooped over the bed, tucking the bedclothes around the small figure beaming up at him._

_"Goodnight Papa." Celeste whispered back. "I love you."_

_Her father's smile widened dotingly at her words. "I love you too."_

_"I love you more!" The little girl said enthusiastically._

_"Impossible, _ma petite_." Her father murmured, bending to kiss her forehead._

_Celeste sighed contentedly, a happy smile warming her young face as she drifted into a gentle sleep._

Celeste smiled to herself at the recollection of her father. It was much more pleasant than the more recent memories of curling up alone in the bed, soaking the sheets with tears and wishing she could sink away and never resurface.

With an effort, Celeste cut off her spiralling thoughts and focused her mind on happy times as she slipped back into bed and blew out the candle.

Darkness closed in on her like a shroud, and she fought to keep dark thoughts from swallowing her as sleep slowly claimed her.

**Thank you to the people who have favourited, followed and reviewed - it means a lot!**


	13. Chapter 13 - Beginning

Celeste reached the door to her dressing room and hesitated. She wasn't sure if she was ready find out what was behind it. Her heart thumped harder at the thought of facing _him_ again.

Tentatively, she opened the door and stepped inside. It looked just the same as every other time she had walked in, yet a shiver traced her spine at the sight of her mirror.

Was he waiting there? Could he see her, even now? Perhaps it had been a mistake to come back.

Celeste walked towards the mirror, waiting for movement or a voice. But the room stayed silent except for her footsteps, and the glass didn't change.

She looked around herself. Was he here? Every time before he had spoken by now. She didn't even have the familiar feeling inside she always got when he was around.

After being afraid of finding her teacher, Celeste was now scared of him not being there.

She stepped up to the mirror and knocked uncertainly against the glass. "Ang- Erik?" she called. There was no answer.

Stepping back, she turned to glance around her room again. Where was he? Had he decided to leave? Yes, she had been apprehensive, but she had decided to stay with him. He couldn't go now.

Celeste's insides clenched. Why wasn't he here? "Erik?" she called again, louder this time; worry tightening her throat.

As a caving sensation began to spread from her chest, there came a sudden sound from behind the mirror.

Celeste span, hope rising and breaking out in a smile when she saw the tall figure revealed behind the glass.

Resisting the urge to give a cry of happiness, she instead breathed a relieved, "Hello.".

Who would have guessed that she would be so happy to see him? Last night she had been almost ready to run away, but now she was so pleased to just be in his company.

"Good morning," Erik replied, his voice as smooth as ever.

"I wasn't sure you were here." Celeste blurted, still feeling scattered.

Erik's head tilted a fraction. "I was on my way up from the lake when you called."

"You heard me?" she asked in surprise.

_I was listening for you._ "Sound travels well through the passageways." he explained, amazed his voice sounded so calm despite the nerves churning inside him. "Are you ready for your lesson?"

Celeste looked a little surprised, then disappointed. "I'm not going to be able to do a lot of singing now; Carlotta is playing Alyssa again."

"Yes, I heard." Erik said, his jaw clenching in the only show of his burning anger he allowed. "But I would still like to work on your voice; you should have a large role again before long." _I'm going to make sure of it_. "Unless you'd rather stop your lessons?" he asked as the thought surfaced - not for the first time - as dread suddenly filled him.

"No." she said quickly. "I mean, I'd like to carry on with my lessons. If you're still happy to teach me."

"Always." he replied, relief washing over him before he composed himself. "I was thinking we could have your lessons down by the lake, at least for a while. It's quieter down there, and your voice sounds so much clearer."

"Yes, of course." Celeste said.

"Shall we go down then? We can get in some practice before your next rehearsal." Erik ventured, hoping he didn't sound as tentative as he felt. He held out his hand to her yet again, and after a moment felt the warm weight of her hand in his that was gradually becoming familiar to him.

It may have been a shaky start, true, but Erik was going to make sure nothing this took away from him.


	14. Chapter 14 - Friends

"Um, Celeste?"

Celeste turned, surprised to see one of the young ballet girls standing there. Though most had forgotten their annoyance with her, many still cast the occasional resentful look or spiteful laugh her way, and some had long ago dismissed her as plain odd.

"Yes, Chloe?" Celeste remembered the blonde girl who had joined less than a year ago. She was quiet except when she was laughing with her friends, and had apparent talent at picking up musical instruments, which made her popular with the members of the orchestra. _Almost as good as someone else I know. _

She shook her head a little, forcing Erik from her thoughts. "What is it?" she asked.

Katie, a sweet, softly-spoken friend of Chloe's stepped forwards. "We were asked to give you this." She produced a letter, and Celeste recognised the embellished paper at once.

"Who by?" she asked in mild confusion. Surely Erik hadn't emerged into the Opera House and persuaded the girls to carry his message. If he had, Chloe and Katie seemed remarkably calm.

"Madame Giry." Chloe said.

Celeste's confusion cleared. She would have been extremely surprised had Erik suddenly started to employ the ballet girls as messengers.

Katie handed the letter over. As her fingers closed over Erik's message, Celeste rolled her eyes internally at her teacher's flair for the dramatic. "Thank you." she said, smiling gratefully at the ballerinas.

The pair smiled back and hurried away, rejoining the small group chatting by the edge of the stage.

Celeste left the bustle of the crowd, and found an empty corridor to read the note without prying eyes.

_Celeste, _read the familiar scrawl._ I will not be able to teach you this afternoon. Your lesson will instead take place when rehearsals end tomorrow._

Celeste sighed. She was disappointed to put off her lesson, but at the same time slightly relieved to postpone Erik's intense presence. She wondered for a moment what he could be doing, but pushed it from her mind. As a general rule, she tried not to think too hard about what Erik spent his days doing. After all, it was his business.

Pushing herself off the wall she had leant against, Celeste flocked her hair back from her face and started back towards the noise of the stage, a certain heaviness in her heart at knowing she would have to wait another day to sing.

"Where were you yesterday?" Celeste asked, finally breaking the silence as Erik helped her out of the boat.

"I had...matters I needed to attend to." Erik said vaguely. In truth, he had spent the previous day and that morning investigating potential methods of taking care of Buquet, but he was hardly going to tell her that. Her friendship, though tentative, was incredibly valuable.

Celeste tilted her head, a playful smile forming on her lips. "I thought that nothing was more important than music."

"Don't use my own words against me." Erik couldn't help grinning.

"But I'm right." she said, frowning in mock confusion.

Erik hid his widening smile by turning away from her. He started to shuffle the music on the organ, trying to look busy.

"Erik, what's this?"

Erik glanced over to see Celeste holding his Punjab lasso, now genuinely frowning down at it. "It's just a piece of rope." He forced his voice to remain casual while he cursed himself for leaving it beside the piano. After stealing around all morning he had been in so much of a hurry to see Celeste's rehearsal that he had just dropped the lasso and sped off without a second thought.

Celeste arched an eyebrow at him, her expression alarmingly similar to the one Madame Giry often wore with him. "It's a lasso."

"Yes," Erik tried not to sound guilty or wry, as either could end badly. He glanced at her hands. The coil of red rope looked so wrong held by her, like poison on a delicate flower.

The unease flickering in Celeste's stomach was reflected on her face. Stories of corpses hanged by the Opera Ghost sprang to mind once again. In fact, at times it was almost impossible to rid her mind of doubtful thoughts about her Angel.

"You don't...use it, do you?" she asked tentatively. "On people." She waited nervously for him to answer, hoping desperately it would be the reassuring rather than the frightening response.

"Of course not." Erik replied smoothy, and Celeste felt herself relax slightly. However, there was still the creeping doubt telling her that the stories must have come from somewhere, and that he must have some reason for having the lasso.

She almost shivered. The possibility that he was lying didn't bear thinking about.

"Do you promise you won't use it on anyone?" she persisted. _If he agrees, I won't have anything to worry about. If he doesn't... Well..._

"I promise." Erik's voice was soft, and when she met his eyes they were earnest but unreadable. "Now, come and look over this score."

After a moments hesitation which made Erik's insides clench, Celeste laid down the lasso and moved to the organ. Although, Erik noticed, she didn't come as close as she normally did.

"As you can see, the Countess' part has some difficult sections which will take some time to work on, but you are fully capable of it all."

Celeste frowned slightly, her anxiousness now directed at the music before her. Erik couldn't help but smile a little when she ran her hand through her hair. Over the last few months her mannerisms had become as familiar to him as the rocky floor of the cavern, but this nervous habit always amused him.

"Are you sure I should practice this?" she asked uncertainly, and not unexpectedly. "The chances of me actually singing it are very slim."

"I can guarantee you will be Prima Donna again." Erik said, arranging his face into the picture of innocence when she glanced over at him. "The managers would be idiots to ignore your talent." he added to sidetrack her.

Celeste smiled at last, despite herself, as he knew she would. "I thought you said they were idiots."

"Even idiots can be pointed in the right direction." Erik said, smiling too.

"If Carlotta loses her power over them." Celeste said quietly, her face falling again.

"Well," Erik said, positioning himself to begin playing. "We'll just have to see what happens. Now, from bar 18."


	15. Chapter 15 - Wait

Erik lounged, bored out of his mind, behind a panel in Box 5. He had been poking his head out in the hopes of seeing something interesting, but had given up when they were an hour into the rehearsal and not so much as a note had sounded. Now he had resigned himself to waiting the whole thing out stuck in the damn box.

Heaving a dramatic sigh he began to bang his head repeatedly against the wall, but stopped when it began to ache.

Erik groaned as he heard Carlotta's voice ring out again, calling for perfume, or someone to rearrange her costume, or whatever it was this time. Maybe she had decided to do them all a favour and ask someone to rip out her vocal chords. Erik would be only too happy to comply.

He had half a mind to sabotage the Prima Donna right now, whether by tampering with her drink and impairing her voice, or something a little...messier. Slitting her throat would be more satisfying than strangling her, he mused, but then there was something so lovely in the thought of watching her roll down the Opera House's long staircase. _Bounce, bounce, bounce._

_But no,_ he reminded himself, _it would have to wait. _There would be much tedium to endure, yes, but the idea of taking her down in public was too good to pass up. He would wait until opening night, and then he was going to show her what humiliation was. She would see that what she put others, put his little angel through was nothing compared to the hell Erik could unleash. He was going to make damn sure Carlotta would never sing again, and that there was no way for managers to brush it under the carpet. And he was going to have so much fun doing it.

At long last music began to play, but it was hardly a relief, as Carlotta began to warble along.

He wished it was Celeste that was singing. Her voice was like honey, or molten gold. Carlotta sounded like a dog being trodden on.

"How much longer must I endure this hell!" Erik muttered, cringing as Carlotta murdered opera.

Celeste fought the urge to fidget where she sat on the stage. She was poised to begin the dance, but Carlotta had already insisted on repeating her aria twice, and she was seriously beginning to wonder whether she would do anything today.

In fact, the only time she really got a chance to sing now was in her lessons, and even that wasn't much of a comfort. No matter how many times Erik encouraged her or reassured her that she would be centre-stage again, she was gradually losing hope of ever getting a large part again.

It didn't help that Carlotta threw her a smug look every time she passed the dancers, and that whenever she had had a chance to dance she was constantly aware of the daggers being stared into her head. It was incredibly frustrating, especially knowing it could have been her singing that part.

Despite the nerves that had writhed inside her, being Prima Donna, just once, had been the best moment of her life. She had been so excited and proud, and she could hear how much her voice had improved thanks to Erik's teaching. With the music surging through her she had felt so empowered, like she could do anything, like the worries of the world couldn't reach her.

For one shining moment she had been a star, bright and dazzling and untouchable. Not Carlotta's glares, nor the ballerinas' whispers, nor the managers' bias could take that away from her.

And then afterwards, to finally see her Angel... Erik had been more than she could ever have imagined. She found herself surprisingly close to her secret genius, who seemed to understand her like no one else ever had. Around him she felt relaxed and free, like she had nothing to hide and nothing dragging her down. There were still certain things she tried not to think about, like the lasso, but she found an undeniable feeling of safety in his presence.

"Celeste!" Christine's hiss broke through her daze.

Her friend had noticed from Celeste's expression that her concentration had waned, whereas the rest of the dancers were readying themselves to rise.

Celeste snapped back to reality, flashing Christine a grateful smile. She lifted her chin and began the routine along with the others.

Moving her body to the music, she supposed that even if she did have to be resigned to just dancing for a while, it wasn't the worst thing in the world. She still enjoyed it, and there was a feeling of companionship about dancing with others that wasn't quite the same when she was singing a solo. But there was still a slight ache of disappointment inside her as she thought about how the Countess's part had sounded in her lessons.

Carlotta had ensured that Celeste wouldn't get a single line in the performance, but at least she could never take away the secret beauty Erik coaxed from her by the lake.

**A/N Sorry this one's quite short again, but the next couple of chapters will be longer.**


	16. Chapter 16 - Revenge

Erik could practically hear Carlotta's ego. As she waltzed onto the stage he scowled down from his vantage point in the roof of the auditorium, and her voice began to rise and fall melodramatically below him.

He grimaced as she completely missed a note, and pitied those stuck on stage with her. He was almost surprised at how well Celeste was staying in character, given the racket going on beside her ear. He would have run from the Opera House by now if he were in her position. Or pushed Carlotta off the stage. Or both.

Erik ground his teeth as she screeched her way through the melody. He could have sworn that Il Muto didn't used to be this long. Perhaps Carlotta was dragging it out to extend her stage time. _She'll regret that._

Celeste wouldn't have made such a travesty of the music. Blessed by her voice, the notes would have sounded like they came from heaven itself. Not like a demon that was being slowly throttled.

The old anger at Andre and Firman for overlooking Celeste rose in him again. They refused to think anything but what Carlotta ordered them, and were still oblivious to the perfection right in front of their noses.

Erik looked over to glare at Box 5, _his box_, where he could see the fools engaged in no doubt mindless chatter that pompous arse the Vicomte de Chagny. The Vicomte too was grating his nerves. Erik had been ready to smash in his _pretty_ face already that evening, when he had spoken particularly friendliness with Celeste. _Insolent boy_. Did he not have enough women fawning over him already, without exchanging pleasantries with his little angel?

"I believe," he called loudly, manipulating the acoustics of the theatre perfectly to allow his voice to sound throughout the auditorium. "I asked for Box 5 to be reserved for _me_!"

Meg Giry jumped up and ran across the stage, squealing. "It's the Phantom of the Opera!"

Erik grinned at the ripple that spread from her words of people whispering to each other and glancing around nervously. The managers in particular looked alarmed, and the Vicomte was frowning beside them. _Not so pleased with yourself now._

"No!"

The outburst from the stage made Erik start and look down, because he hasn't expected Celeste to react like that to his voice. She had paled under the makeup, and her eyes had gone wide in alarm. He felt a twinge of guilt at her distress.

"Please don't -"

Her cry was cut off when Carlotta grabbed her arm and jerked her violently backwards.

"You little toad, you are supposed to be quiet!"

"A toad, madam?" Erik's voice rose in rage at Carlotta's venomous hiss. How dare she! He would make damn sure that vile woman rued the day she strutted around _his_theatre and insulted _his_ little angel. "It seems to me that you are the only toad on this stage."

Carlotta faltered for a moment, then regained her composure. She shook off his words with a flick of her head and gestured imperiously to the orchestra. "De Capo, Maestro."

Flouncing back to her position and causing everyone to scurry back to theirs. With unnecessary zeal, she began to sing again.

Poor Celeste was trying to cover her confusion as she was dragged around, but her act dropped when at the end of a line, instead of words, a load croak sounded from Carlotta.

Erik couldn't help but laugh at the Prima Donna's expression, which had gone from infuriating smugness to utter disbelief.

She tried again, but another croak escaped her, and another. She clutched at her throat, with a look on her face somewhere between confusion and terror.

Celeste stepped forwards in concern, but was batted away by a still croaking and increasingly frantic Carlotta.

By now Erik was doubled over with mischievous laughter that resounded through the whole theatre. This was just too brilliant. It was even more satisfying that he could ever have dreamt.

Through his mirth he managed to shout, "Behold! Her singing is enough to make the very chandelier fall!" As he spoke he reached out to one of the ropes that kept the chandelier in place and shook it, to the great agitation of the people below.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Firman had leapt to his feet and was attempting to calm the chaos Erik had created. "We apologise for the disruption. The production will resume shortly, with Miss Celeste Bistelle singing the part of the Countess."

Celeste stared at him in shock for a moment before she was hustled after Carlotta, who had been led, whimpering, from the stage.

"Until then, ladies and gentlemen," Andre had hurried down to the stage to address the audience with his trademark simper. "For your enjoyment, we will show the...the ballet! From act...three!"

Erik withdrew from the passage as he heard Andre's fraught, "The ballet, Maestro! Now!"

While he would normally love to watch the panic as the cast tried to assemble themselves, tonight he had other things on his mind. There was still one matter he had to take care of.

Erik walked carefully down the flys, his tread silent and his attention focused completely on the man just a few metres from him.

Joseph Buquet's bulky frame took up most of the space on the walkway. He had his back to Erik, but turned to lean over the rail as he drew closer.

Erik melted back into the shadows, watching through narrowed eyes as Buquet, almost within arms reach yet still completely oblivious, sneered down at the stage below.

"Bloody ballet rats." Buquet muttered, and spat on the ground. "Damn this whole house."

Silently, Erik drew his lasso and a bag from beneath his coat, cold anger rising inside him as he thought of the many infractions this man had committed. He was gripped with a sudden urge to jump forwards at Buquet, but he made himself stay still.

His mouth twisted in disgust as he regarded the man before him. Buquet had been an inconvenience for some time, far too curious and with a far too large mouth. He was a drinker, terrible at his job, and an absolute pest. Even Madame Giry could view him with nothing more than distaste, especially since he had begun stirring up the ballerinas. Erik could have sworn she was about to kill the man after one practical joke had resulted in three hysterical girls, one of whom refused to go near the stage for a week afterwards.

Buquet finally moved away from the rail, his back now turned.

Erik stepped forwards carefully and deliberately, and slid the bag then the rope over Buquet's head. The loop was tightened, quickly cutting off the man's air supply before he could cry out. With a quick tug, he was drawn closer, taking away any room for struggling.

Buquet's meaty hands scrabbled desperately at his throat, but the lasso was just pulled tighter and tighter. Although Erik had the thinner frame of the two, he was by far the strongest, and knew all fight would soon leave his victim.

_"Erik, what's this?"_

Erik jerked his head at the sudden surfacing of the uninvited, unwelcome memory.

_"It's just a piece of rope." _

With his old lasso in his hands he was reminded of Celeste's discovery of it, and the shadow of horror on her face.

_"It's a lasso."_

He was used to being reminded of past dealings with...irritations, but instead of violence and rage, he could think only of the apprehensive frown on the face of a sweet angel.

_The coil of red rope looked so wrong held by her, like poison on a delicate flower._

Buquet's struggling was fading; his hands were now just flapping weakly at the rope.

_"You don't...use it, do you? On people."_

Buquet fell to his knees.

_"Of course not." _

His heavy body sagged against Erik.

_"Do you promise you won't use it on anyone?" _

His head lolled backwards.

_"I promise." _

Erik knew the life was almost gone from his victim.

_"I promise." _

He was almost triumphant.

_"I promise." _

Erik growled at the back of his throat, and pulled the rope off Buquet's head. He slumped sideways to the floor with a heavy thump.

Erik stooped over him, took off a glove and pressed his fingers to Buquet's neck. There was still a faint pulse, and the large chest was still moving slightly with shallow breaths.

He straightened up again, his thoughts in turmoil. The Phantom of the Opera was stood over an almost-vanquished opponent, yet he could not finish the task. That, he knew, would make any future companionship with Celeste impossible. He had seen the look in her eyes as she thought of him killing people with the lasso, and he did not want to find out what she would do if she knew he had done it.

No, killing Buquet was not an option. _But what then?_

Erik could not leave him like this. The fool would not heed the warning, and would no doubt be boasting of his great escape from the Opera Ghost before the week was out. He would probably even say he had fought Erik and won.

Erik's fists clenched. Buquet must still pay.

In a flash of inspiration, Erik held the man's limp arms over his head and tied his wrists together with the rope. The noose, now slack, was then slid back over his head. He took the spare end and tied it securely to the rails, checking it with a tug.

Erik checked over his handiwork. The knot around the wrists was tight and would hold even Buquet's weight. He smiled in grim pride. Hanging a man without killing him. Not a bad night's work, really. Maybe not quite the outcome he had planned, but surely even Celeste couldn't be upset with his actions.

With a great heave, Erik dragged Buquet to the edge of the flys. He looked down at the girls still dancing below, unaware of what was about to fall towards them. What a shock they would get.

Erik kicked Buquet's body off the walkway. The great weight dropped immediately, the coil of rope on the floor winding rapidly out then suddenly pulling taught as a great snapping sound broke through the performance going on below.

A chorus of screams began from the dancers as one by one the girls looked up and saw the body dangling above them.

Erik gave a low chuckle that rose to a loud laugh as the cries of alarms and fear spread like a crashing wave backstage and through the audience. Triumphant mirth grew and shook his whole body when he heard André's panicked shouting desperately trying to restore calm to the chaos.

Still laughing, Erik started to walk back along the walkway. Slow as they were, the rest of the crew would soon work out where Buquet had been thrown from and come to investigate.

The screams still ringing through the theatre were like music to his ears; a symphony of terror that Erik had learned to perfectly orchestrate.


	17. Chapter 17 - It's True

Celeste burst onto the roof, heart pounding and mind reeling.

A hasty shout to Christine to fetch her from outside when the performance began again had been all she had managed before she had run all the way from side stage to the rooftop.

She leant against the wall and put a hand to her chest. From here Paris was a bright expanse before her,

and she stared out at it, trying to steady her breaths and clamp down on the sick feeling rising up her throat.

Celeste wished she had not left her dressing room after being put into the Countess's dress, but instead she had gone in search of her wig, and so had been hurrying past the wings when the body had dropped from the flys.

Screams still echoed through her mind; the cries of the ballerinas as the sickening crack of Buquet's arm snapping resounded through the theatre.

She moaned a soft, "No," and covered her face with her hands.

How could Erik have done this? He wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't. The Phantom was one thing, but her Angel...

Celeste felt the figure moving up behind her, but she didn't turn.

"Why?" she asked softly.

Erik didn't say anything. The silence between them felt thick and heavy despite the slight evening breeze.

"Why would you do that? Why, Erik?"

There was a pause.

"What, exactly, are you asking about?"

"Well, that's the point, isn't it?" Despite the building anger, she kept her voice steady and her eyes fixed on the skyline, still rosy in the sun's wake. "Any of it. All of it. You took Carlotta's voice away. You terrorised the whole theatre. You hanged a man, for God's sake."

"Not quite."

Celeste wheeled, fury flashing in her eyes. "That's not the point, Erik! You threw him off the flys!"

Erik's face was impassive. "He was tied to a rope."

"By the arms! God knows if he'll be able to do his work again."

"He will."

"How are you being so calm? He could have died!"

"But he didn't."

"Erik! That's not the point! You nearly killed a man!"

"Nearly being the imperative word."

"No, _killed_."

"No." Erik's voice had lost the light tone. He still sounded calm, but his voice was dangerously serious as he advanced towards her. "You seem to forget; I am the Phantom of the Opera. You've heard the stories, you know the things I've done." Erik towered over Celeste, and she pressed herself back into the wall.

"You're my Angel of Music." Celeste whispered. "You're not a murderer."

Erik let out a laugh, cold and mirthless. It was not the laugh of an angel, no matter how much that title made his heart ache. It was the laugh of a madman, a murderer, a Phantom. "You can be incredibly naïve. A naïve child who still believes in angels."

Erik immediately regretted the words and braced himself for the torturous look of hurt, but it was only a flicker before her anger flared again.

"I'm not a child! And I'm not an idiot; I know what's real and what isn't. And I don't want an 'angel' if he's going to do things like that!"

Erik'a eyes narrowed, the grip on his temper loosening. "Do you really want to cross me? Now?"

"I want to know who you really are. I thought I was talking to an angel, a friend, all these weeks. But now it's looking like I was wrong."

"You think you can choose how people are?" he asked scathingly, his anger flaring uncontrollably at her judgement. "Do you think you can just wish on a star and rid the world of problems? I've tried, and believe me, it doesn't work."

Celeste arched an eyebrow, looking colder than he had ever imagined she could. "But pretending to be an angel works out fine?"

"You were only too eager to accept me."

"Maybe that was a mistake!" she snapped. "Maybe a was just being a naïve child, thinking it could ever be a good idea to put faith in you!"

"Are you so ungrateful for everything I have done for you?" Erik pushed past the pain the daggers of her words caused him. It was so much easier to focus on the anger, on the damage he wished to reciprocate. "I have given you everything! Do you really think you would have any of this without my help?" He gestured to the costume she wore, knowing full well that her insecurity would be the most painful place to strike. "I have taught you, given you the ability to sing more beautifully than anyone else, and all I asked of you in return was for you to listen to my instructions."

"No," she returned hotly, though her voice trembled. "All you have done is lie to me and manipulate me!"

Erik tried to interrupt but she cut him off.

"You claim to be teaching me because you wanted to make music, to help me. But you only really want power. Over me, over the managers, over Carlotta, over Buquet. When you started teaching me I thought I'd found someone I could trust, someone who would support me, who would stand by my side. All I found was someone else to disappoint me and let me down. You're not my angel." She fell silent at last, turning her head away.

Erik suddenly wanted to backtrack, to reverse time, to take everything back. He wished desperately he could go back to when she smiled at him like he really was an angel, to when she didn't doubt him, to when someone believed in him. He wanted more than anything to take away the distrust and anger that looked so foreign on her face.

_That's all you deserve. She's right, you're no angel._

_No, _he thought, _not an angel_. But perhaps for her he could be a good person. Somehow.

"I wouldn't have killed him." he said eventually, all anger and defensiveness draining away, leaving him with a weary trepidation and age-old guilt he couldn't seem to help but add to. "I couldn't... I couldn't."

"But you were going to." Celeste's voice was soft. There was no hatred in it. Her eyes were full of pleading, as though she was begging him to dispel her fears.

"I..." Erik began, but didn't know how to answer her.

Her look of disappointment burned him to the core. She turned away, and he could see the tears that sprang to her eyes reflecting the lights of the city.

"I didn't." he said eventually. "I could have, but I didn't." _Doesn't that count for something? _He willed her to turn back round. He needed her to reassure him, to not see him as a purely bad person. She had to believe in him. Because if an angel like her couldn't forgive him he was truly damned.

Celeste ran a hand through her hair. Her mind was in turmoil, one simple question swirling in a whirlpool of thoughts: could she ever trust him again?

She had faced this question before, and had thought about it a lot since - despite trying to push it from her mind. Last time curiosity and the pull of his music had swayed her to stay, but what tied her to this man now? Everything she thought she had known about him seemed to dissolve into lies.

As hard as it had been to accept Erik at first, it was impossibly worse to suddenly discover this other side of him. The friend that had improved her singing no end, encouraged her, made her smile and laugh. There was no smile left on her face now. The voice that had meant beauty to her now sounded only as a manic laugh in her mind. The man that had been her Angel was gone, and a stranger stood before her.

The thought that she had never come close to knowing Erik was frightening. She knew a few months was nowhere near enough time to understand someone, but she had never imagined him capable of...that.

And yet, there was still a little of the man she had thought she had known in the figure silhouetted on the rooftop. If he had wanted to harm her she would have been helpless against him, and he could have overpowered and even killed her in seconds. But he hadn't touched her, even when fury had radiated from him and his eyes had burned like he was possessed by the Devil himself. Erik had never lifted a finger against her.

Celeste knew that fact that he hadn't harmed her meant nothing compared to the crimes hidden in his past, but her heart ached nevertheless at the shadow of pleading in his expression even as he had towered intimidatingly over her in anger.

The conflicting lessons of avoiding wrongdoers and giving people second chances were battling within her mind. Her parents had always taught her to forgive, that repentance was better than punishment. From what Erik had said he was capable of, and had done, terrible things, surely worthy of punishment. Was anyone capable of enough repentance to pay for the sins he may have committed?

Celeste knew the answer had to be no, but she couldn't help but pity Erik. Underneath the mask and the personas she could glimpse a tortured man. Perhaps there could still be a way for him to move on from who he had been, to improve his future even if he couldn't change his past. The question then was: would he?

At long last Celeste turned her eyes to him. "Why did you need to do anything to him?"

Erik blinked. He hadn't been expecting her to ask that. "Well, he... He knew too much about me. He was spreading stories. He was dangerous."

"So he deserved to hang?" she asked dubiously, frowning.

He frowned too, unsure of how to answer. "He needed to be taught a lesson. I had to make an example of him."

"You had to?" She raised her eyebrows.

"And he was a nuisance to everyone." Erik added, hoping to mollify her slightly. "He terrorised the ballet r- the ballerinas."

Celeste wiped a hand over her face. "But he didn't deserve to die for it."

"And I didn't kill him." He took a small step closer to her, and was reassured a little when she didn't move away. "I promised you I wouldn't." She looked up. "I have a few...habits left over from the past. From how I used to be." A look of apprehension flitted over Celeste's face and he plunged on before she could interrupt him. He needed her to understand. He needed to know that his choice had made a difference, that there was still hope for him. "I'm not an angel, and I've made mistakes. I've done...bad things. If I have any chance of redemption, it's you. You are an angel, and if I can be good for you then I have hope."

Celeste's silence seemed to last an eternity. His eyes desperately searched her pale face, searching for a trace of her answer. Finally, she said, "You're only human, Erik. Whatever mistakes you've made..." She sighed. "I can't absolve you of them. But you can still be a good person."

Erik had looked away as she spoke, but his eyes now lifted to hers.

"I believe you are a good person. You just...forget to act like one sometimes." She reached out a hand and rested it gently on his arm. The light touch sent shock sparking through him.

"I did it for you." he said after a moment.

"What?"

"Carlotta. I stopped her so that you could sing. She was foul, and you should have been the one stood there. The managers refused to consider you with her pulling their strings."

Celeste tilted her head at him, retracting her hand and running it through her hair. "What did you do to her? She thought she'd been cursed."

Erik took her calmer curiosity as reassurance and tried a tentative smile. "It was quite simple: I just -"

Erik broke off as they heard the door the roof open.

"Celeste?" called Christine's voice.

Celeste looked towards the doorway, and as Christine appeared there she felt Erik vanish from her side.

"Celeste, they're going to start again soon. Are you ready to come back in?"

Celeste made herself smile. "Yes, just coming."

"We'll need to be quick;" Christine said. "They still need to sort your wig."

Celeste nodded and moved after her friend as she disappeared back down the steps, but hesitated by the door.

Suddenly she felt Erik's hand on her arm and heard his voice in her ear, "This is where you're meant to be. Sing for me."

Then the pressure of his touch lifted, and when Celeste looked back over her shoulder there was nothing but shadows on the rooftop.


End file.
